


Blood Will Out

by Kadmus



Category: Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 46,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6250711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kadmus/pseuds/Kadmus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Secrets come to light thick and fast after Taylor's power makes itself known. Her family will never be the same again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1.1

**Arc 1: Hypovolemia**

**1.1**

My eyes opened slowly, creakily. My vision was blurry, smudged in a way that meant putting my glasses on wouldn't fix all of it. I tried to sit up, but stopped almost immediately as my hands pressed down on the bed and I could feel something was wrong.

I bought my hands up to my face, close enough I could make them out through the blur. They looked wrong, unbalanced in a way I couldn't make out with my eyesight the way it was.

And then I noticed the lights.

Bright, blazing gold, a network of lines, almost fractal in their complexity, covered my hands, and, looking down the bed, the rest of my body.

I wasn't _seeing_ them, any more than I smelled music or heard colour, but sight was the closest sense I could relate it to.

It didn't feel odd, or disorienting, which was what threw me.

I could sense other collections of lights, all of them blue this time, outside the room, wandering, standing, lying down. Other people? I could tell where they all were, within a certain range.

I must have lain there for minutes, eyes staring at nothing, while I interacted with this new feeling, this extra sense I suddenly had. I noticed a pair of the light clusters enter my room, but I was so distracted that I didn't realize someone was talking to me at first, wondering at the strange sensation of the other lights.

“Taylor? Can you hear me, sweetheart? The doctors said you should be able to,” my dad said, a collection of lights that overlaid – or underlaid, perhaps – the form I could see.

_Huh, guess that means this is a hospital. Wonder why I'm here?_

I nodded in response to the question, feeling lines across my face pull tight as I did.

_What happened?_

I raised my hands to try to feel at my face, but was brought short by a pair of gentle hands on my wrists, reaching over from the other side of the bed from my dad.

“Please, Miss Hebert, try not to touch your face. The wounds are healing, but you don't want to re-infect them,” she said, and I could just about make out the blue scrubs she was wearing.

_A doctor?_

“Can you talk?”

I opened my mouth, suddenly aware of how _dry_ it felt, and managed to croak “Water.”

My dad seemed to have pre-empted me, immediately moving to place a straw to my lips.

“Slowly, Taylor, you don't want to make yourself sick,” he cautioned, voice trembling.

I nodded again, slowly, and tried to push myself upright again. With a struggle, and assistance from both the doctor and my dad, their lights turning gold as they touched me, I managed to manoeuvre into a sitting position.

“What happened?” I asked. “And … can I get my glasses? Everything's really blurry, worse than usual.”

“You went missing on Friday, Taylor. Some... someone locked you inside your locker. The police couldn't find you, and nor could I,” My dad's voice was rough with anger and tears. I could feel his fists clenching in my bedsheets, hear the linen creaking under the pressure.

“Locker? I... don't remember, really.” There was a gap in my memories there, I realized, from when I went to school in the morning until now.

“It's no surprise, Miss Hebert. When you were found on the Monday, you'd spent the whole weekend in there, locked in with months worth of used female sanitary items. You'd cut yourself in numerous places trying to escape, and you were suffering from severe infection. It was touch and go for a while, but you survived with minimal damage. You were surprisingly well hydrated, and the infection hadn't spread as far as we feared, so it seems likely you went catatonic early on and the slowed metabolism kept you alive,” the doctor said. “Unfortunately, you can't wear your glasses at the moment, due to the injuries on your face. Don't worry, now that you're awake, we can get someone in to help. She volunteered when she heard what happened to you. I'll have a nurse call her now, if you're willing to be healed by a cape?”

My head was spinning. All of this was too much to take in, and the cotton-wool stuffed detachment I was feeling wasn't helping, but I nodded anyway. If someone could fix me, deal with whatever was still wrong, I wasn't going to turn them down.

“Do you feel up to giving a statement to the police while we wait for Panacea to arrive, Miss Hebert? It would be helpful to them, and to you, if they could start finding whoever did this as soon as they can,” the doctor added, eliciting another nod from me.

I just wanted this over with so I could go home.

**XxXxX**

The police officers had been understanding and gentle, noting down who I thought might have been responsible – Sophia Hess, aided by Madison Clements and Emma Barnes – and were taking the entire thing extremely seriously. I guess attempted murder make people pay attention. They had wanted any proof I had, and I had told them about my log books, my records of the past year's worth of bullying. They had left with my dad, to collect the evidence.

It was nice, the difference in attitude between them and the school administration. I couldn't really feel any gratitude, though, as the fog in my head was still there, and I felt like I was watching myself from outside. It was probably the morphine, the doctor had said, and they would take the drip out after my visit from Panacea.

I spent the rest of the time I had to wait playing with my new sense, seeing what I could do with it.

_Male, mid-fifties, high cholesterol and partially clogged aorta_

_Female, early teens, 15 th week of pregnancy_

_Male,infant, lungs damaged from smoke inhalation_

I was confused. I hardly knew my knee from my elbow, and yet I understood what an aorta was? I'd never heard the word before, but it popped into my head when I studied that particular cluster of lights, and I knew what it meant. It wasn't just those surface details either – I got a list of hormones, toxins, infections, you name it. Concentrations of alcohol, of nicotine, of drugs. It even worked on me; I could tell exactly how much morphine was in my system, and how quickly those amounts were going down.

_Rat, healthy_

_Rat, carrying rabies_

_Cockroa..._

_Ew._ Okay, I wouldn't be concentrating on any of the smaller clusters any time soon.

It should have been overpowering, a total influx of information flooding my head and leaving me unable to process it, but it wasn't. It all made sense, it all felt _right_. There was only one conclusion I could come to – I had powers.

Fairly useless powers, from initial observation. I could tell if there were people within a few hundred feet, and what their physical condition was. Hurrah. I'm sure the Triumvirate will be knocking on my door any day now, asking me to lead them.

I was pulled from my contemplation by the arrival on the roof of two more clusters, descending from the sky.

_Female, mid teens, suffers from stress_

_Female, late teens, perfect physical condition_

_Other capes?_

Perhaps Panacea had arrived. I knew Glory Girl often carried her from hospital to hospital, and that would match how they appeared.

I had discovered a few things about my condition in the time I had spent answering questions for the police. The infection had festered in my fingers, rotting them away until they had to amputate three from my left hand and two from my right. I had clawed at my face, arms, anywhere I could reach, covering my body in horrible scratches. The ones on my face had cut into my eyes, allowing the infection to take hold there, half-blinding me. I was missing chunks of myself, where the flesh had necrotised and had to be cut away to save me.

The only reason I wasn't curled up in a ball shaking with terror right now was the hope that it would soon be fixed.

That and the drugs.

The clusters had arrived outside my door, and I got my first glimpse – a foggy, blurry one – of Panacea and Glory Girl. A splotch of white and red, and a smudge of white topped with yellow.

There was a gasp of shock from one of them, and a muttered curse from the other.

“Do I have your permission to heal you?” One asked. Panacea, I presumed.

“Of course, please.”

Her touch on my face was gentle but firm, and I could see the blurriness fading from my vision in instants, my sight returning to its normal, slightly impaired, state. My hands arched outwards as my fingers grew back in, and I could feel my cheeks hollowing as my body cannibalized itself to fuel the healing.

“I'm sorry, Miss Hebert, but I can't do much more as you are. There's not enough fat or muscle on you to heal the superficial scars and some of the deeper, but not impairing wounds.”

I got my first good look at her then. Short, with curly brown hair like mine and freckles. Familiar, like I'd seen her before.

_Amelia?_

Huh. Where had that come from? She was called Amy, Amy Dallon, I knew that. Not Amelia. I didn't even _know_ any Amelias.

I blushed, realising I was staring.

“Ah, thank you so much. I … I don't know what I would have done without your help.” I gave her hand a cautious squeeze with my new fingers.

She smiled at me – I thought so, at least, as though her mouth was hidden beneath her scarf, her eyes crinkled – and squeezed back.

“I'm happy to help. If you'd like, we could schedule another session in a few months, once you've put some weight back on, and I can finish the job.”

“Oh, no, no, don't worry about it. I don't want you to have to waste any more time on me. I'm just happy you helped me. It's been so long since anyone...” I trailed off, feeling tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.

I wiped my free hand across my face, smearing the tears away.

“Thank you, really, from the bottom of my heart. If you ever need anything, let me know, and I'll move heaven and earth to see it done.” I smiled at her, still holding her hand like a lifeline.

“Really, it's my pleasure to help. But I do have to go now, there are other people here who need my assistance.” She looked incredibly uncomfortable, leaning away from me slightly.

I nodded, and gave her hand one final squeeze before letting go.

I managed to wait until she had left the room to curl up into a ball and sob myself to sleep.

**XxXxX**

They kept me in the hospital overnight for observation, but I was free to go the next day. There's nothing quite like walking out of a hospital under your own power, after being bedridden. It's a bit like being reborn.

I was still a little unsteady despite Panacea's healing, and my remaining injuries pulled uncomfortably with every step, but the only way they would stop me from getting home would be with force.

My dad was in an odd mood as he helped me into the car. I couldn't blame him, losing his wife, and now nearly his daughter, in a handful of years would take its toll on anyone.

But he seemed broken, defeated. I hadn't seen him like this since Mom died, but I didn't want to talk to him. I was too scared of what he'd say to me.

“I'm glad you're alright, sweetheart. I was so worried when you went missing, and it was … it was almost worse when they first found you. It was so close, we nearly lost you so many times.” His hands were a little shaky as he strapped in and started the car.

“At least something good is coming of this. The school's bending over backward to stop me going to the press. They're paying all your hospital bills, as well as a good lump sum. We've got them over a barrel, and I'm going to wring them dry before this is over. Unless you'd rather we go to the media?”

I shook my head. The last thing I wanted was to be all over the news as the 'Locker Girl'.

He smiled sadly back at me. “Well, I'm usually on the other side of the negotiation for these things, but we've got all the cards this time. We can get you a good deal out of this, maybe even put you through college on it...” He was babbling, and realised it, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

“I'm so sorry, Taylor,” he said as he stared at the road. “I should have noticed something was wrong. That you were being bullied. But I didn't.”

His hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, and I could read the stress hormones flooding his body as he kept his eyes on the road.

“I didn't, and because of that, I nearly lost you. I don't know what I did that meant you didn't think you couldn't tell me. I don't care. All that matters is that I love you, and if I lost you there'd be nothing left,” he rasped, shaking slightly. “Please, Taylor, please don't go back there. I don't care what it takes, but I'll make sure you don't have to, that you never have to see those … girls again. The school's throwing money at us to try and make the problem go away, we'll have plenty for whatever you want to do.”

I muttered something affirmative, speechless at his intensity. My dad was a passionate man, but I'd never seen him this way before.

“Okay, Dad. I just want to get away from there. If I can go to a new school, never have to see them again, I'm happy. I don't want anything else. You don't need to do anything else.” I could feel prickling at the corners of my eyes.

He gave me a strained smile, glancing briefly in my direction.

“Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm not going to do anything stupid. I just … I don't tell you how much you mean to me. I don't say it often enough. I don't want my last memory of you to be a quick goodbye after breakfast. We've lost too many people. Your mother, your cousin, your uncle, all of them gone because of stupid, petty _shit_ that could have been avoided.”

We pulled into the driveway, and I leaned over to grab my dad in a hug, holding him tight until we both stopped crying.

**XxXxX**

The next day I took the bus to the library. My dad had to go back to work, and the last thing I wanted was to have to sit at home and stew for hours. I always felt better at the library; probably something to do with having all those books around. Besides, now that I had powers, I had a _duty_. I needed to do what I could to use the power to help people. That was how I could start to pay Panacea back.

I had my hood up, and my hair covered most of my face, concealing the mixture of stitched cuts and livid red scars I had. I still got odd glances, and no-one chose to sit next to me, but I was used to people giving me a wide berth. I had powers now, and needed to find out what to do with them. More importantly, I needed to figure out what they could do. I'd tried by myself, last night, but...

_I lay awake in my bed that night, turning my hand back and forth in front of my eyes, watching as the golden lights moved at the same time, inside my body. It was mesmerising. But it felt like there should be more. I waved in the direction of my curtains, willing them to move._

_Nothing._

_Perhaps it was something to do with the lights themselves? I focussed in on my hand,_ pushing _out from it towards a pile of laundry._

_Zilch._

Well, it couldn't hurt to look into the basics of powers, what we knew about them and how they interacted with the world.

First things first, the obvious. I loaded up Parahumans Online, and quickly found their most-viewed thread - “So now you're a cape”. It was filled with advice, some of it useful, most of it stupid, and a few bits that were _lethal_. It recommended testing out your powers thoroughly before going out and _using_ them, to make sure you didn't have any accidents or, more likely, get yourself killed. Sound advice. There were a few comments by confirmed capes describing how they worked out what their powers did; it almost all boiled down to 'it felt like the right thing to do' combined with trial and error.

I found out that almost all powers directly affected inanimate objects only – you usually couldn't just set someone's bones on fire with a thought, you actually had to throw fire at them. So either I had a rare power, or it just didn't do anything else. I was a little disappointed, with how weak my power was seeming, but I kept looking. The wiki article on the Manton Effect told me that my power might only work on living things, instead. It was something to start with, and something I could do now.

I could feel the bugs crawling about the books, the rats in the sewers below, and countless other living things around me. I focussed on one of the rats – it was out of sight of anyone and if anything went wrong I wouldn't feel bad about it dying – and gave it a _nudge_ with my power. It shunted an inch or so.

_Wow._

I pushed it harder, and it moved a whole six inches, slowly sliding along. Well, better than nothing. An idea struck me, and I tried _lifting_ it instead. This time, it slid into the air, dropping again immediately upon reaching the height of about four inches.

I could see how this would be useful. Telekinesis, however weak, was a boon. If I could use it on myself, I could enhance my movements. I didn't seem to need to move to do it, either.

I smiled to myself, feeling my stitches pull with the movement, my chest tightening a little in excitement, not helped by the fact I was listing the amounts, concentrations, and types of hormones my body was releasing to stimulate that feeling.

Huh. Could I change those numbers?

I slumped back in the chair, suddenly boneless and giddy, giggling loudly, as I tried changing the concentrations upwards. This was fun, and I suddenly felt _great!_ I hadn't felt like this in _years_.

Ah.

Perhaps flooding my system with happy-drugs was a bad idea? Everyone was looking at me funny. It's not often a teenage girl does that in a library, I suppose. I dialled the concentrations back down again, feeling my giddy euphoria subside into a happy glow. That was … dangerous. I could see how drug addicts could justify doing _anything_ if they got to feel like that.

Definitely not something I wanted to play around with in public, but if it worked on someone else, I could easily disable someone with joy. Euphoria would be a good cape name though.

I was still smiling as I left the library, already planning my next steps.

First, I needed to see whether my power worked on me in other ways. That could wait until this evening, when I was in my room, away from prying eyes.

Second, I needed a costume. I could pick up something fairly cheap and non-villanous by hitting thrift shops and army surplus stores. I had a little cash with me, so I could start to put things together, but the big purchases, like the boots I wanted, would have to wait.

Third, I wanted to drop by the self-defence place my dad had been recommended. One of the doctors at the hospital had mentioned it, they ran classes for all levels, and the head teacher there was an ex-PRT commando captain, so they definitely knew their stuff. Their beginner class started just after school let out, so I had a few hours to kill before the session began.

I'd rung them last night, to find all this out, and had been told to show up in normal street clothes, and that the first few sessions were free, until I decided whether to keep going or not. The man on the other end of the phone had been polite and understanding, and, strangely, English.

I never wanted to feel helpless again, and I figured knowing how to punch could help with that. It also meant that if I ran into Sophia in a dark alley, I might be able to escape her instead of just taking the pain.

I spent longer shopping than I needed to, going from shop to shop at a leisurely pace, trying on things and comparing prices. I had a lot of time to kill, and I wanted to make sure my costume didn't look entirely lame when I put it together.

I picked up a royal blue hoodie from a thrift shop just off the Boardwalk. It was worn, but in that way which made clothes comfortable, not threadbare. I found some bright yellow-gold cloth for sale at a stall in the Market, which would make a good bandanna to cover my face, as well as a good sash to wear around my waist.

I found some matching thread at another stall, and picked up a few reels of that so I could customize the rest of my clothes with it. That did it for my spare cash, so the cargo pants and steel-toed boots would have to wait until I had some more money. I also needed to find a mask to cover the top half of my face – my new scars were kind of distinctive, after all.

I had paced myself well – I had enough time to get the bus Downtown. The self-defence course was held in a hall near Arcadia, so bus routes there were good, and I only had to wait ten minutes for the next one.

**XxXxX**

Mira Cuilinn was not what I had expected when I heard 'ex-PRT commando'. I had been imagining a tall, burly, severe man with a crew cut and tattoos. Mira was a tiny Indian woman with long, sleek black hair tied in a sensible bun, big green eyes, and a kind smile that emphasized the sprinkling of crow's feet at the corners of her eyes. She walked with a peculiar, precise grace and spoke with a soft Irish lilt. Though she said she was in her fifties, you couldn't tell it from the way she moved. She was dressed in a simple blue t-shirt with 'PRT' printed across the back in white, and a pair of red shorts. She may have been small in build, but her arms and legs were still probably thicker than my own, all of it muscle.

“So, Taylor, have you ever done this sort of thing before?” She asked, walking slightly ahead of me as she lead me to the hall we would be training in.

“No, never.”

She smiled up at me, looking genuinely pleased.

“Good, it means we will have fewer bad habits to break you of. Now, as you're obviously injured, make sure not to hurt yourself further, but otherwise try to keep up. I'm glad you told us why you wanted to learn, as it lets me tailor your training a little. You're not like a lot of my students, and if you'd like to stay after this lesson to see one of the more advanced classes, please do. If you go over to the left side there, I will be over to start the lesson in a few minutes.”

I made my way to where she had indicated, looking over the collection of people gathered there. They seemed to be exclusively female, and a lot of them had a look about them I recognized. One I saw in the mirror every day. I nodded minutely to them, smiling nervously, but made no move to introduce myself.

If they were anything like me, the idea of talking to a stranger like that would be terrifying.

Mira stepped up to the front of the class and clapped her hands together, bringing what little murmured conversation there had been to a stop.

“Alright, lasses, this is the first lesson for most of you. This is the beginners class, which is always free, and I segregate by gender at this level, because a lot of you are here to learn how to protect yourselves against men, and having people you're afraid of in the class is counterproductive to learning.” She began to pace.

“If you are here to learn how to get away from an abusive woman and do not want to learn in a female-dominated environment, my assistant will schedule one-on-one lessons for you, which he will lead. He's in the office just off to the right there, and will teach you the basics now in private if that is what you need.”

“If you _are_ being abused, and are afraid of what your abuser will do if they find out you have snitched on them, be aware that I do not report unless I see it happen, or you ask me to. However, I do urge you to inform the police if you are being abused. There are measures in place to protect you, and they _do_ work, no matter what your abuser may say. If you need to, either myself or my assistant can go through the reporting procedure with you.”

She came to a stop again, in front of the group.

“I speak from personal experience in this. I suffered abuse, physical and sexual, first from my stepfather, and then from my wife, until a friend helped me to escape the situation. I haven't let it control my life, and I've had a long and successful career in the PRT. I'm not gonna lie to you and say it doesn't affect me. I'm not gonna feed you the bullshit that you can move past it. It's always there, and it's always a part of you. You just have to accept that, and use it, the same as if you have a temper, or a mental illness, or any other trauma.”

“I find it helps to get all this out of the way before I begin the session, so you can understand why I do this, and why I'm helping you. It's not because I'm a good person. It's because I have a duty to you. To everyone who doesn't have that friend to get them out of their bad situation. To everyone who is suffering because of some bellend who can't keep their evil to themselves. And ultimately, to myself, so I can sleep at night.”

“So. Let's go over what I'm gonna teach you. I don't fuck about with physical conditioning. You can do that in your own time, and, frankly, if it comes to muscle on muscle, most of you don't stand a chance. My aim is to give you two things: a handful of simple techniques you can use to escape from a dangerous situation, and the attitude to survive that confrontation.”

“The first half of this session, we're going to learn some basic all-purpose moves, and how to break holds on the wrist and use that position to break things on your assailant. The second half, you'll learn the attitude, and how to train it and keep it.”

She took a breath and gave a bright smile.

“Any questions?”

**XxXxX**

The first thing we learned was how to punch. You'd think it was simple, but apparently there are hundreds of ways to screw it up.

“Okay, everyone put your hands out in front and make fists. The way you would if you were going to _really_ punch some wanker,” Mira ordered, walking down the row we had lined up in.

I wrapped my fingers tight around my thumbs, squeezing. As she went down the line, she was correcting the other's forms, demonstrating as she did so. It took her a little while to get to me, and she nodded genially as she looked at my hands.

“Yeah, rookie mistake. Most people do it at first. Two things to start with – thumbs outside the fingers, tucked under the second knuckles. Like that, good. Stops you breaking it when you punch someone. Second, don't grip so tight. Just enough so you can feel it. Good. Alright, throw a couple of punches for me,” she said.

I struck out a few times, flailing embarrassingly as I did so. I'm all elbows and knees, not exactly built for fluid grace here.

Mira just smiled some more. “Good effort. Now, remember a few things for when you're practising at home. Keep your shoulders down, and elbows in,” she tapped me gently on the shoulders. “They shouldn't go up when you punch, it saps some of the power,” she demonstrated.

“You want to strike with the first two knuckles of each hand, index and middle finger. They're supported by the wrist, so you aren't going to hurt your hand as badly when you hit someone with them.” She tapped the two knuckles in question, and I could see that hers were heavily scarred.

“Last thing – keep your hand level and in line with your forearm bones. Keeps the bones all aligned and disperses the impact through your entire arm, instead of concentrating it on the wrist. Practice in front of a mirror, starting slowly, until you can do it without thinking.” She nodded to me, and moved to the next student.

I gingerly tried it the way she said. Huh. I could actually feel the difference. It felt smoother, but at the same time distinctly unnatural, like I was fighting against what my body wanted to do automatically. _Looks like I'm going to have to practise this a lot, then._

The rest of the lesson continued in a similar fashion, practising the different escape techniques on each other and the three different holds.

“I'm using a variant Aikido for this, if any of you are interested. It uses the opponent's strength against them, so it's ideal for people my size.” Mira grinned, eliciting a few quiet laughs. “You wouldn't believe what you can do with the right angle and a little leverage.”

**XxXxX**

By the end of the session I was aching and sweaty. I hadn't been able to participate in all the lesson, as my stitches would have pulled out doing a couple of the moves, but I was happy with what I'd picked up. I was definitely going to come back.

I'd realised part-way through the lesson that I could have made myself ignore the pain, pushing certain hormones up to the point where pain was an abstract concept, but it wouldn't have stopped me from damaging myself. I would just have been able to ignore it. It was something I'd have to remember when I started patrolling, though – it could be very useful to be able to ignore pain for a while.

I was going to stay to watch the advanced lesson, I decided. What I'd seen so far was impressive – a couple of moves that could put anyone on their knees, so long as their body was jointed like a regular human. It wouldn't work on all capes, but it was pretty useful nonetheless, and most criminals weren't powered in any way, just dangerous. I wanted to see more.

Mira smiled at me as she saw I was sticking around, and handed me a sheet of paper. “Taylor, good to see you want to check out what you can look forward to. Here's a general fitness worksheet for you to look at, if you want to get up to the level you'll need for the more advanced classes, as well as some diet advice. Would you mind helping Conrad set up? Just drag a few of the mats over to the middle of the room.”

I nodded as I glanced over the sheet. Simple stuff really: stretches, running, and some simple, body-weight only callisthenics, alongside some basic eating recommendations. I was going to have to start eating a lot more anyway, if I wanted to put back on any weight, so I supposed I could follow the guidelines as I did so. I folded it away into a pocket, and turned to walk over to the soft mats stacked next to the far wall.

“Conn, we're done, come help set up!” Mira shouted, moving to a locked cupboard near me.

A young man emerged from the offices, ducking slightly to get under the doorframe. I paused to gape for a moment. He was _huge_ , at least six and a half feet tall, and gangly, with long arms and legs. He looked young, and handsome enough, with a narrow jaw, prominent chin and high cheekbones. His hair was a thick brown mop, cut short enough that it didn't fall into his eyes. He wasn't particularly bulky for his height, but his arms and legs, visible as he was wearing only a white sleeveless t-shirt and red shorts, were whipcord muscle, and anyone as tall as he was had to be built on a different scale to us normals. His biceps were probably further around than my thighs had been before the locker incident, and his abs were clearly visible through the thin fabric of his shirt.

I may have spent a little longer looking than strictly necessary.

He gave me a crooked smile, extending his hand to shake. “Conrad James, assistant instructor, and unfortunate nephew to this slave driver,” he rumbled, his accent a strong, posh English one. The man who answered the telephone.

I took his hand, and he shook with a gentle grip, obviously trying not to hurt me.

“Taylor Hebert, I'm, uh, sticking around to watch some of the advanced class?” I replied, my voice distressingly squeaky.

“Cool. Not seen you around at school, you not an Arcadia girl?”

I gawped at him. He was still a student? I could see it now he was closer, I suppose. No wrinkles, no real stubble, he _could_ have been a teenager still.

He chuckled. “I get that a lot. I'm only seventeen.”

I smiled awkwardly. “I go … I went to Winslow. You know why I don't want to go back, huh?”

“Ah, that Taylor. You're taller than you sound on the phone.” He winked at me, then gestured to the mats. “You take one side?”

The two of us made quick work of the set up, as it was just a case of moving the mats to the centre of the room and arranging them into a rectangle. By the time we were done, Mira had finished fiddling with the cupboard.

“Catch!” She shouted, and two silver blurs whickered at Conrad.

He laughed and snatched them out of the air, revealing them to be a pair of broad-bladed knives, as long as his forearm. A quick flourish and bow later, and he placed them carefully on the mat.

Mira threw a number of other weapons at him, and he likewise grabbed them cleanly, laying them out on the edge of the mats. Students were beginning to arrive and warm up around the room, almost all of them adults, most of them burly men and women in blue PRT t-shirts and shorts.

“You're in luck, Taylor. Weapons training today, it's always a crowd pleaser,” Mira announced, strolling towards us. “If you go over to the bench, you can sit to watch, or you can stand with the others at the edge of the mat if you'd prefer. Let me introduce you to some people.”

In short order, I was introduced to Missy and Dennis, a young blonde girl in a nice green t-shirt and black sweatpants and older red-headed boy in a band shirt and shorts with a nice smile. We looked to be the youngest in the class, Missy by a fair margin.

“Hey, nice to see some new blood around. The bosslady must like you, if she's letting you sit in on one of these,” Dennis said as he and Missy moved through some slow-motion martial arts moves.

“It's my first time here, I don't know _how_ she could like me. It's not like she even knows me,” I protested.

“Eh, she's like that. Got a good sense for people, knows who'll stick with it and who'll drop out almost right away.”

“I'm just glad there's a girl close to my age around. All the others mother me, like I couldn't kick their asses any day,” Missy said, smiling prettily at me.

I grabbed my elbow defensively, wrapping one arm around my body. Small, cute-going-on-pretty, obviously well-off. She reminded me of half the girls who had bullied me. I gave myself a mental shake. _Scared of thirteen-year-olds now, Taylor? Can't let them get to you like that._

Instead, I nervously returned the smile. “You're good, then? You must have been doing this for a while.”

“Yeah, pretty much as long as I can remember. Dad's got some money, so he's always wanted me to be able to protect myself. I only started with Mira a few years ago, though, after she moved here.”

Dennis nodded sagely. “Yep, Missy here can put me on the floor nine times out of ten.”

Missy snorted. “And the tenth time you throw yourself down begging for mercy, Dennis. You should take the training more seriously, you know. It could save your life some day …”

Dennis started flapping his hand open and closed where Missy couldn't see it as she kept talking, and I had to hide a smile. They'd obviously done this a hundred times before.

Missy smacked him in the back of the head as she realised what he was doing, and I couldn't help but laugh. The other two joined in, and I felt my tension ease a little.

In the centre of the mats, Mira clapped her hands together once, and everyone fell silent.

“Alright, Taylor's going to be observing today, so keep the dirty talk to a minimum, please. We don't want another Missy on our hands.” She grinned, and Missy put on an overblown pout, to chuckles from around the room. “Everyone 'round the mats, we're going to do some armed-unarmed. Conn, you and Missy want to start?”

Conrad nodded, and I couldn't help but feel like this was patently unfair. He had at least two feet on the girl, and could probably snap her between two fingers. I had to trust that Mira knew what they were capable of.

Missy stepped onto the mats, settling into a loose stance. Conrad raised an eyebrow at this, but nodded when she glared at him, and kicked a _knife_ up and into his hands.

Dennis nudged me. “They're real weapons, you know. He hits her with that, she's gonna bleed,” he whispered.

But it didn't happen. As Conrad started forwards, blade snaking out as a silver blur, Missy just wasn't there, spinning around to the side and trying to grab his arm. He quickly dropped the knife, grabbing it with his other hand, swinging under his outstretched arm to force Missy to let go. She ducked under and forwards, jabbing a pair of strikes to his stomach. They disengaged and circled each other, then closed again, the clash ending this time with Missy sent tumbling by a precise stomp kick. She got up, and they fought again and again, the tiny blonde against the knife-wielding giant.

It seemed like they fought for hours, I was so captivated by the motions, and the way their lights moved with them, the changes in biochemistry as they struck and evaded. Missy was breathing a little heavily by the end of it, and Conrad's shirt was damp with sweat.

“Good!” Mira announced, stepping back onto the mats. “Your five minutes are up. You're progressing well, Missy. Conn, you can probably hold back a little less next time, I don't think she was challenged enough. Next pair!”

I stayed to watch the entire lesson. I'd never seen anything quite so fascinating as the interplay of muscle and metal, the way a simple twist could fling another person head-over-heels. I _needed_ to learn this, to _move_ like that.

My next lesson was in two days, and I could hardly wait.

**XxXxX  
**

Dad hadn't got home by the time I was back, so I decided to make the most of his absence and headed to the basement. It was the perfect place to mess with my powers, with no windows I could be seen through and abundant bug life I could mess with. I would be able to tell when Dad was coming back, sensing his cluster of lights when he approached the door. I couldn't recognise the clusters as anything other than the scant details my power gave me – rough age, sex, and a variety of concentrations. Not great for knowing _who_ was about, but _where_? I could do that in spades.

At the library I had wondered if my telekinesis worked on me, so that was the first thing I tried, focussing on my outstretched hand and trying to make it move forward. And it did. Forcefully.

I was flung the length of the room, dragged by my hand, crashing into the bare concrete wall with a painful thump.

_Ow._

Well, that was a hell of a lot more impressive than I'd managed with the rat. I groaned softly from my heap on the floor, patting myself carefully to check I hadn't torn any stitches. Luckily, they all seemed to have held, but I was going to ache tomorrow, no doubt about it. I slowly levered myself upright, considering.

Perhaps if I _held_ with my power, and tried moving my hand like that? Not flinging, like I had before. I tried, and my hand drifted from side to side under my direction. _Excellent_.

Now, maybe …

 _Fuck yes_. If I moved all my lights at once, held in the gentle mental grip …

I could fly.

**XxXxX**

After I spent a good half hour zooming around the basement, giggling manically, I managed to calm down enough that I could think. I seemed to have perfect manoeuvrability, stopping instantly when I wanted, and going in reverse in a heartbeat. I wasn't sure how fast I could go, but I'd lay good odds that I wasn't going to be setting any records there.

I realised that I should probably get out of the basement before my dad got home and asked why I was down there, so I landed clumsily – perfect control in the air means nothing once you hit the ground, I discovered. I'd need to practise that if I didn't want to look like an idiot in front of the other heroes.

I stumped up the stairs, my injuries reminding me _why_ the doctors had recommended I take it easy. I was still going to go for a test flight later, once it was dark and Dad was asleep, but easing off for a few hours while I cooked dinner and watched some television sounded like a great idea.

First, though, I was sweaty and dirty from the day's exertions, not to mention my intimate introduction to the basement wall. I grabbed my pyjamas from my room and a fresh towel, and hopped into the shower to clean off.

The hot water was bliss after my long day, soothing my aching muscles and loosening some of the knots of tension in my shoulders. It stung a little as it ran into my wounds, but I made sure to give them a good clean, taking score of exactly how badly I was still injured for the first time, now that I was alone and my mind was no longer spinning with awe at my new power.

My arms were the worst, almost every inch of them either covered in the same livid red scars that graced my face, or with half-healed, stitched together holes where dead flesh had been excised. My hands were incongruous, perfect and unmarred, thanks to Panacea's healing. She'd done what she could for the rest of me, closing the wounds that would have left me handicapped, limited my range of motion thanks to the loss of entire muscles, but the surface damage was still there.

My legs had the fewest scars, but those that were present were the deepest, and the excised sections were the largest. Being buried up to your knees in filth is bad for you, apparently. Travelling up my body the injuries got worse, at their peak on my arms and, though I couldn't see it at the moment, my face.

The healing had left me with almost no body fat whatsoever, and I briefly lamented the loss of what breasts I had, although it was interesting seeing my six-pack. I looked like an underfed, long-haired boy. Not that I was ever much of a catch before, but I was a write-off now. At least my hair was still there, long and beautiful as ever, my last link to my mother and my femininity both. If that had gone … well, it would have been bad.

I towelled off, and dried my hair, then put it up into a simple braid to keep it out of the way. Not a style I wore often, and never out of the house, but Dad didn't care what I looked like. I slipped into my pyjamas and headed downstairs to start dinner.

I was nearly finished by the time Dad arrived home, and he gave me a quick hug and a kiss to the top of the head before moving to set the table.

“Smells great, Taylor. You didn't have to cook, you know. How was your day?” He asked.

“Not bad, Dad, I went out into town for a while to stretch my legs, and stopped at the library for a few hours. I went to the self-defence lesson, and it was great, I'm definitely going back,” I replied with a smile. It had been too long since we'd just talked like this. “And I wanted to cook, it gives me something to do instead of lazing in front of the TV all evening.”

Dad barked out a short laugh. “Hardly likely, sweetheart. Knowing you, I'm more likely to come home and find you buried under a pile of finished books.”

I nodded in acquiescence, a small smile making its way onto my face as I served up dinner.

We continued with the light conversation as we ate, and then retreated to the sofa to watch some television. I leaned against Dad, his arm around my shoulder, and fell into a light doze as the TV murmured in the background.

I stirred as Dad tucked me into bed, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead.

“Love you, Taylor.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

I slipped back to sleep with a smile on my face.

**XxXxX**

I woke up groggily, with a weight on my stomach and a hand over my mouth.

“If you make a sound, I'll kill your Dad,” a voice hissed, obviously female.

I froze.

I had no idea who it was. I peered up at my attacker, seeing nothing but a dark mass of fabric.

She hit me, hard, right in the stitched wound on my face. I felt the stitches rip, felt warm golden light trickle down the side of my face, and whimpered in pain. My attacker moved her hand a little, covering my nose as well, stealing my breath.

She punched me again, in the same spot, tearing the wound further, smearing her knuckles with gold, to match her own lights. I finally realized what was happening and began to fight back, clawing at her and digging furrows into her forearm.

 _If you're attacked, make sure to leave evidence they attacked you. Skin under your nails and scratch marks on their arms link you to them._ Mira's voice echoed in my head.

She smirked, ignoring the blood, shining gold, dripping from her arm, and punched me again, this time in the throat, making me gag. I could feel my oxygen levels dropping as she cut off my breath with one hand, and adjusted them back up again with a thought. I didn't want to pass out now; if she didn't get her chance to torment me, she might go after something important.

She pulled up my shirt to expose my stomach, and grabbed right onto another stitched wound, digging her nails in and _dragging_ , deliberately popping all the stitches. I let out a soft groan, gritting my teeth to stop from screaming, and dialled my endorphin levels up, washing the pain away as I drifted away from my body.

I just had to endure, after all. She would get bored soon enough, and I could just move on. It always worked with the bullies at school.

She lifted her hand off my face for a moment, letting me gasp reflexively for breath, before she placed it back again, stifling the breath half-way through. She let out a low, thoroughly amused chuckle.

She reared back and kept beating me, aiming for my still-healing injuries, deliberately and methodically revealing each one and striking until it bled. I fought against her grip, but I was weakened by my hospital stay and my subsequent healing, not to mention the day's hard work. It was pitiful, really, how easily she kept me down with one hand.

She wasn't stopping, wasn't letting up. She periodically removed her hand to let me catch an unneeded half-breath, but she _wasn't going to stop._ She really, truly wanted to _kill_ me, I suddenly realised.

_Fuck that._

So I changed the equation. I flooded my body with adrenaline. I opened my mouth as wide as I could, and she snickered.

I sank my teeth into the meat of her hand and bit down until they met, lunging upwards with every muscle in my body at the same time, one hand pushing back on her arm, the other grabbing at her face.

 _Curl and rake. You'll get the eyes if you're lucky._ Mira continued.

My fingernails, fresh and sharp from their recent healing, slashed across my attacker's face, and I felt skin give under my nails, saw golden light start to trickle from her wounds. Then I balled my fist and hammered it right into her nose.

She screamed and rolled off me to stand in the middle of my room, clutching at her face with one hand, golden light running through her fingers, the other going behind her back. I rolled off the bed after her, landing on all fours and nearly collapsing, spitting the chunk of her hand onto the floor.

“You _stupid cunt_! What the fuck?! _What the fuck!_ ”

Her right hand came around her body, pointing a small pistol at me, the barrel wavering as she shook. The door to my room slammed open, and my dad stood there, silhouetted by the hallway light.

Her aim switched, and she pulled the trigger. The bullet caught Dad in the shoulder, and I screamed, raw anger flooding my mind. I didn't even think. I reached out to her lights, and pushed as hard as I could. She was flung backwards, passing through the open window as she was thrown out of the house almost faster than I could see, disappearing from my blood-sense.

I lifted myself into the air and grabbed the pillows from my bed, then flew over to where Dad was slumped against the doorframe. He'd tried to stop the bleeding, but his hands just laid limp now, dripping blue light onto the carpet. I pressed a pillow against his wound, as hard as I could, and patted him gently on the cheek.

“Dad. Dad! You need to stay awake!”

“Hey, kiddo, no need to shout. I'm awake, it just hurts like hell.” He sounded bleary and confused, and in the light from the hallway I could tell he was a lot paler than usual.

The blood was soaking into my pillow, far too quickly. She must have hit an artery. I pressed harder, pushing my whole bodyweight against the pillow, my hands damp and warm. It wasn't enough.

I _seized_ the blood that was trying to escape, the golden light stopping in its tracks, and _pushed_ , returning the lost blood, and only the blood, to my dad's body, back to where it belonged. I held it there, in the right pattern, the right flow, and let go of the now-dry pillow with a gasp.

“Stay... stay here, Dad, I'm going to phone the ambulance. Just don't...don't move, alright?”

I couldn't walk, I was too weak and in too much pain, so I flew downstairs to the phone, and dialled 911.

As I finished talking to the dispatcher, I unlocked the front door, then I noticed that my dad's lights were slipping back from gold to blue, and I sped back upstairs to touch him again and refresh my hold on his blood. I was still there, one hand holding my dad's, the other over his wound, when the paramedics arrived.

They were shocked he was still alive. More shocked that he wasn't bleeding, that they could look into the wound and see his blood being pumped right through the hole in his artery.

“Please, I don't know how long I can hold it. Help.”

**XxXxX**


	2. 1.2

**1.2**

The ambulance ride was quiet and nervous, with the paramedics standing by to intervene the second my control slipped. There was nothing they could do without surgery, since I was handling the bleeding better than they could. I had a death grip on Dad's hand, and he was smiling wanly at me, murmuring soft reassurances that everything would be alright.

One of the paramedics had handed me a face mask, like the ones doctors wore during operations. It did nothing to really hide my identity, but I appreciated the gesture, in a distant, detached part of my mind.

I wasn't paying attention to much other than Dad, sitting propped up on the gurney I was afraid that any moment, my concentration would break, or an arbitrary time limit would run out. I hadn't even paid attention to my own wounds, and I was vaguely aware that they were still leaking. And that I still had blood all around my mouth and under my fingernails.

The police were waiting for our arrival, but didn't interfere when Dad was rushed to the operating theatre. I was expecting it to be a long, stressful process, but with me holding his blood in place, they administered a local anaesthetic, and then the surgeon sealed up the damage to the artery in just a few minutes. All the doctors were giving me considering looks, probably trying to figure out if they could recruit me, and how much it would cost.

I let out a little relieved sigh when Dad's surgery was finally done and I could let go of my hold on him. My entire body had been tensed up, not from my power but from the nervous guilt that _I had killed Dad_. I may not have fired the gun, but the attacker – whoever it had been – was there for me.

And now they were saying that he might lose the use of that arm, the damage to the joint and muscles was so severe. Only time would tell, and they were holding him in the hospital for a few days. He was still conscious, but quite groggy from the roller-coaster of events he'd been through in the past hour or so. I wasn't feeling much better, all things considered. I was in pain, still oozing slightly, in ripped pyjamas, and covered in blood, my own and my attacker's.

By the time they wheeled Dad to the recovery ward, the PRT had arrived to question me. The cops were stood to one side, conversing in hushed, angry whispers, and glaring at the two PRT troopers, and the young man in a suit who was with them. The paramedics must have called in that I was a parahuman, but I didn't want to talk about that.

“Excuse me, Miss, but could we take a moment of your time to ask a few questions?” The suited man asked.

I nodded curtly in response. I just wanted this over with.

I followed them into a private room off to the side; it looked like a small examination room. It was cramped, with the four of us in there, the two troopers in their body armour filling the space of three normal people each. I was breathing a little unsteadily and my eyesight was blurry; I noticed all of a sudden that I hadn't picked up my glasses in the rush to keep Dad alive.

“Now, we understand that you're a parahuman. You aren't in trouble for anything as far as we're aware. It seems like a fairly straightforward case of self-defense. We _do_ need to ask a few questions and explain a few things though, if that's alright?”

I nodded, but didn't bother to respond. The suited man smiled in response.

“Excellent! Now, I'm Clive, what would you like me to call you? We've got you as 'Unknown Blood Controller' at the moment, and that's a bit of a mouthful.”

He gave me what he obviously thought was a charming smile. He was reminding me of Mr Gladly, trying to get on my good side without actually caring about me. I could read his blood; he had no emotional response to my situation.

I gave a snort.

“Just call me Taylor. Like this is covering anything identifying.” I pulled off the mask, wincing a little as it stuck where blood had begun to dry it to my wounds.

“Alright, we'll keep your cape name open for the moment then. According to what you told the paramedics, you were attacked in your house?”

“Yeah, someone ambushed me while I was asleep, did _this,_ ” I gestured to my seeping wounds, “to me, then when I managed to throw her off, she shot my dad. _She's_ the one who should be in interrogation right now, not me,” I snapped.

The troopers exchanged glances, then one gave a minute nod to the other, while Clive continued to smile obliviously.

“Don't worry about that, Taylor. I'm sure the police are looking for her right now. Do you have _any_ idea who it could have been?”

“No! I've been in _hospital_ for the past week. I've never done anything that'd make someone want to _do_ this.”

The suited man noted something down in his phone with a nod.

“Were there any signs that your attacker was a parahuman?”

I shook my head. “No. She just... just hit me. And shot Dad.”

The man smiled at that, a thin, condescending expression.

“It's a police matter, then. Now, Taylor, you do need to be made aware of a few new responsibilities _you_ have as a parahuman. The most important one, of course, is that your powers are a weapon, and they should only be used on others in emergencies. Tonight? Perfect example of when it's fine to use them. Saving lives is what we're all about at the PRT, after all. Next up, we'd like to extend to you an open invitation to join the Wards. With what you've done tonight we know you'll be a credit to the city. I'm sure that Armsmaster would like to see what you could do, too.” He shot me a sly grin. “Ah, of course, I'm forgetting our colleagues in the police. They would like to take a statement, if possible. They know you're a parahuman, but we have an agreement – they leave that out of the report, don't worry. Do you want to do this now? They can come back later if you need.”

“No. I want to give my statement, let the police collect forensics from me, then go sit with Dad.”

“Would you like me to have a doctor come in to treat your injuries?” One of the troopers asked.

I nodded, surprised that the trooper cared enough to bother.

**XxXxX**

I still had my attacker's blood on my chin, in my mouth, under my nails. I desperately wanted to scrub it away, but I knew I needed to keep it there so the police could collect evidence. I'd caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I looked like a walking corpse, covered in drying blood, with newly opened wounds all over my body, and ripped clothes where my attacker had torn them away to get at my injuries. My wounds were still bleeding, oozing golden light. Not visible to anyone else, of course, but blatant to my extra sense.

I noticed that I was shaking uncontrollably as I finally came down from the adrenaline high I'd been riding, as the fear and panic gave way to gnawing, doubtful guilt writhing in my guts. I was glad that I was sat on the examination table instead of standing, or I'd have fallen down.

There was a doctor checking my injuries, and taking swabs from under my nails and from my mouth. One police officer was photographing everything they were doing, and making sure to get clear photographs of my injuries, while the other was making sure that the evidence was dated and signed. One of the PRT troopers was standing as far out of the way as possible, while the other was stationed just outside the door. There was hardly room to breathe. _Too close._

“Alright, Miss, we can start to deal with your wounds now. I'm going to clean them out, and then we'll probably have to remove the stitches and re-suture them,” the doctor said.

I nodded vaguely, still shaking a little.

“Now, can you give us your statement? If we do this now, it means you won't need to come down to the station later.”

“Y...yeah, sure. Only the second time in as many days that I've had to do this.” I looked down, wincing as the doctor got to work on me.

“I woke up with her on top of me. She had her hand over my mouth, and said... said I had to be quiet. That she'd kill Dad if I wasn't. I think she enjoyed hitting me. I thought if I just let her get her fill, she'd leave, and I'd never have to see her again. But she just... she hit me, and hit me, and she _wouldn't stop_.” I could feel tears running down my face. She'd taken a safe place from me, attacked me in my sanctuary. I felt violated, dirty. _Smells like blood._

“I had to be quiet. If she did something to Dad, I couldn't... I just let her hurt me. Until I realised she was really going to kill me, this time. So I fought back. Like Mira taught us. Made sure to leave wounds that could be matched back to me, so if she escaped, or killed me, forensics could pick them up and get her. Biting and scratching. I got hold of her face, got her eyes. She let go of me, then, and pulled out that gun.” My knuckles were white, bloodless, my hands were clenched so hard in the rough paper cover on the examination table.

“She was going to shoot me, and then Dad opened the door, he must have heard...”

I strangled a sob before it left my mouth, took a deep, steadying breath, and continued, retreating to cold facts.

“She shot him. I threw her out of the window, I think. I didn't care, I just needed to help Dad. I tried to stop his bleeding with a pillow, but she'd cut into an artery, and it wasn't working. I used my power to push the blood back in, to keep it flowing in the right places. Then I phoned the ambulance.”

“Officers on the scene report no evidence of someone landing outside the house,” the police officer said. I saw the PRT trooper stiffen slightly, felt her heart rate push up. “But there's plenty of physical evidence that someone broke into your bedroom. Why do you think you'd be attacked like this?”

I snorted, staring at the man. _Trapped._

“How the _fuck_ am I supposed to know? I was in a coma for a fucking week, lost half my _fucking_ fingers, and then someone _shoots my fucking dad!_ ” I was screaming, tears spilling down my face, every muscle in my body tense. “You're supposed to _protect_ us from psychos like her! Instead, you're in _here_ , talking to me like _I'm_ the fucking criminal!”

Neither the PRT trooper nor the police officer looked fazed by my outburst. They'd probably seen this a hundred times before.

“Miss, we're just taking your statement so we can get all the facts in order. Would you like to finish this another time?”

I forced myself to relax a little. They weren't my enemies, weren't here to accuse me. The shaking had come back, worse, and I grabbed one elbow tight, hugging my arms to my body. _Let me out._

“How... how much more do you want me to say? I've told you everything.”

“We just need a few more details...”

**XxXxX**

They had me repeat my statement a couple more times before they left, and I had been told to rest for a few days to let my injuries recover a little. The doctor provided me with a wheelchair, a clean set of scrubs and a thick blanket to replace the pyjamas that had been taken for evidence, and an orderly to wheel me over to see my dad.

He looked sombre and tired, but gave a strained smile when he saw me approach.

“Hey, Taylor. Thank goodness you were there to save me, sweetheart. The doctors said I'd have been dead in minutes.”

I grabbed the hand on his uninjured arm and held tight. I could feel my face pinching, getting ready to cry.

“Dad, I'm so sorry.”

“Taylor. This wasn't your fault. The only one responsible for it was that bitch that attacked you.” He squeezed my hand comfortingly. “How are _you_ doing? You look a mess, sweetheart.”

I choked out a sobbing laugh.

“Thanks Dad. You really know what to say to a girl.” He looked as if he was about to say something, but I interrupted. “I'm fine. A bit weak from the attack, but fine.”

“That's good. When they catch that girl, they'd better lock her up and throw away the key, or I'm going to do something _permanent,_ ” Dad growled.

“Well, she's going to need stitches, at least.”

We were dancing around the topic, and we both knew it.

“So... I have powers.”

“Yes, Taylor, I kind of noticed,” he said. “What with the flying, and the blood moving on its own. I thought I was hallucinating at first. You know it's the only thing anyone's talking about in here? All the ways they could revolutionise surgery.”

I didn't believe it. I was being talked about like that? My incredulity must have shown on my face, because Dad chuckled.

“They even said they'd waive the medical bills and pay you a small salary if you came in once a week to help out. I think I have at least a dozen business cards here.”

I goggled. It's the only word I could think of to describe my reaction. _No-one_ wanted me around voluntarily. Not even Dad, most of the time.

“There is some bad news, though. They're saying I have to stay in for a few days to make sure the stitches have taken properly. You'll have to be at home by yourself for a while. You can sleep in my room if you need to, if you don't want to deal with yours at the moment.”

I nodded wordlessly. I was exhausted, falling asleep where I sat, despite how stressful Dad's condition was. I yawned.

He smiled wearily at me.

“Yeah, you and me both. Don't think this is the end of the powers discussion, young lady. But it's best to hold off on that until I'm not hopped up on painkillers.”

I smiled back, and rolled my chair over so that I could rest my head on Dad's uninjured shoulder. I didn't feel safer, knowing he was there. But I did feel more in control. If someone came to take him from me, they'd have to wake me up to do it. I pulled a blanket up over my body.

I didn't let go of my dad's hand as I fell asleep.

**XxXxX**

I woke up aching all over, and carefully removed my head from Dad's shoulder, making sure not to wake him. He was snoring softly. I checked him over with my power, and his blood seemed to all be in the right place; I was pretty sure his artery hadn't re-opened.

I finally took the time to check myself over, and I could sense ugly dark puddles of dimming gold around almost all of my injuries. I carefully brightened them up and pulled them back into place, then locked my bloodstream so that I wouldn't leak out any more. That felt a little better; there wasn't the tight pressure on my stitches any more. I must have cleared up my bruises. A quick adjustment on the concentrations of healing factors meant that I could expect a quicker and cleaner recovery, and since my power didn't seem to take anything from me, I could ramp it up to the maximum without worrying about muscle atrophy. Healing two or three times as quickly as normal wasn't massively impressive, but it still meant a lot of time shaved off recovery.

I tried to stand from my wheelchair, my legs still feeling weak and shaky, and just about managed it. I staggered momentarily as pain lanced though me as I put full pressure on them, but it passed quickly as I took a couple of deep breaths.

The clock on the wall read just after nine, and I was starving. A cool breeze reminded me that I was also basically naked, thanks to the scrubs. At least it wasn't one of the hospital gowns with a gap at the back you always saw on TV. I still had no underwear on, and I was becoming acutely aware of it. Hospital scrubs are designed for function, not comfort.

I entertained the idea of blood clothing for an instant, before I realised what I was thinking and made a face.

 _Okay, Taylor, you need some food or something, because that's_ twisted _, even for you_.

I pulled my blanket tight around my shoulders and abruptly realised I had no money on me. Nor did Dad.

How the hell was I going to get home?

I felt my heartbeat speed up as stress hormones flooded my system.

 _I can't be trapped here, there has to be a way out_.

My imminent panic attack was short-circuited by a short, older man in nurse's scrubs.

“Are you alright, Miss? Nothing's gone wrong with the patient, has it?”

I shook my head, forcing myself into calm with a thought.

“No, no, I was just wondering how I was going to get home. We came in last night, and, uh, well...”

“Ah, no money to get home. We have free phones just down the hall, if there's anyone you could call?”

I nearly slapped myself in the forehead. _Duh_. I was pretty sure Lacey and Kurt would come by to pick me up if I asked, and I knew I had their number memorised. Or that Dad did, but I was reluctant to wake him after everything I'd put him through recently. This was probably the best night's sleep he'd had in at least a week.

A quick trip down the hall revealed that I did, in fact, know Lacey and Kurt's number. It also revealed that my brain really _wasn't_ firing on all cylinders this morning, because they obviously _weren't home_. Because it was a _work day_. I called Dad's work number, and the phone was picked up before it rang twice.

“Hello? Please tell me this isn't the police about Danny.” Kurt answered the phone.

“Kurt, it's Taylor. Dad's fine, he just got injured last night.”

“Goddamn, girl, I was at your house this morning when he didn't show for work, that looked like a damn sight more than injured. There were cops there, crime tape, the whole nine yards. I thought the ABB had hit you or something. You all right?”

“I... can we not do this over the phone? I'm at the Theodore Anders Memorial Hospital, do you think someone would be able to come by some time to drop me home?”

I could wait a few hours until someone was free. I could nap in the lobby until they came by.

“I'm on my way now.” _What._ “Can I talk to Danny?”

“Uh, um, oh, he's asleep. You could come up when you get here?”

“Sounds good. Keep safe, Taylor, I'll see you in thirty.”

There was a clunk and a dial tone as I stood there stunned. I guess we still had some friends after all.

**XxXxX**

Kurt and Lacey arrived within twenty minutes. They must have run half the red lights from the Dockworker's Association to the hospital to make it that quickly, but I couldn't bring myself to be upset at their recklessness.

I had spent the time sat by Dad, holding his hand and upping his healing factors to try and help stop the artery from re-opening. I felt a warm glow as I realised I was using my powers to _help_ someone. It was a rare enough thing, for a cape to bother. I was going to be different though. I was going to help, not hurt.

I lost track of time as I focussed, and only realised how long it had been when Dad's co-workers entered the room.

“Holy _shit_ , baby. What the fuck happened to you two? A rabid grizzly?”

Okay, not the opening line I had expected from Lacey. Dad stirred at the voice, eyes slowly opening.

“Danny, how're you feeling, buddy?”

“I _was_ feeling fine, until I woke up to your face, Kurt.” Dad joked, putting on his glasses with one hand. “Seriously, though, my shoulder hurts like you wouldn't believe.”

Lacey had come over to grab me in a hug and squeeze me tight enough I felt my ribs creak, before she moved on to Dad to do the same.

“What _happened_ , Danny? Your house looks like it got rolled by the ABB.”

Dad groaned and sank back onto the pillows, half-closing his eyes.

“Some crazy broke into the house and beat Taylor up, then shot me.”

Lacey's fists clenched, and I could hear her teeth grinding from where I was sat.

“Someone needs to put them down,” she snarled. I flinched and looked down, grabbing my elbow and pulling my arms tight to my body.

Kurt rested his hand on her shoulder, rubbing gently.

“Can we get you anything, Danny, Taylor? We'll give Taylor a lift home, and we can stay there with her if you want us to.”

I was already shaking my head at Kurt's offer. The last thing I needed was _more_ intrusion into my home.

“No, please. It's fine. I just need to get home, then you can get on with your day.”

My dad tightened his grip on my hand.

“Are you _sure_ , Taylor? I'd feel better if you had someone there.”

“I'm sure, Dad. I just … I want some time alone, okay? It's all just too much.”

He sighed, but nodded.

“Fine. I'm not happy about it, but fine. You're old enough to make that decision. But the second something goes wrong, the second you feel unsafe, you call someone and get out, you hear me?”

I gave him a weak smile.

“I promise, Dad. I'll be fine. I can take care of myself, you know?”

He chuckled, and shot a glance to his friends.

“You can, at that. I'm betting that girl's regretting attacking you by now, huh?”

I snorted, remembering the feel of her face tearing under my fingers. The feeling of _victory_.

“I damn well hope so, or I did something wrong. Every hospital in the city's going to be on alert for her.”

He grinned proudly, and ruffled my hair. I squawked indignantly, blushing.

“Dad!”

“That's right, and don't forget it. I'll _always_ be allowed to embarrass you in public.”

**XxXxX**

The drive back home was quiet and awkward, full of half-started sentences and sympathetic glances. I knew Kurt and Lacey didn't approve of my insistence on staying alone in the house, but I _couldn't_ have intruders. Not again, not so soon.

We stopped by a grocery store to stock up on perishables, and they finally got me to the house around lunchtime. They followed me to the door, but I blocked them from entering with my body.

“I'm … thank you both, so much. But I _can't_ , I can't let you in.”

My voice was cracking, and I felt tears start to form in the corners of my eyes.

“We understand, baby. Just let us know if you need anything.”

Lacey grabbed me in another bone-breaking hug, and Kurt followed with a gentler one. They waited at the doorstep until I got my key, then left once I locked the door.

I let out a sigh of relief as I heard their pickup drive away. Alone at last. No-one intruding, no-one watching me. I slumped against the door and slid slowly to the ground, wrapping my arms around my knees and squeezing until it _hurt_.

My breath was coming too quick, my heart was beating too fast. I wanted to break down, to burst into tears and scream at the world. But I couldn't. I had things to do. More importantly, that would be letting _them_ win. And I was never going to do that again.

I don't know how long I spent there, eyes clenched shut, mind working in furious, guilty circles, but I finally managed to get my breathing under control, to _think_ enough to push down my stress levels.

I stood mechanically. First things first, put away the groceries. I picked up the bags and went to the kitchen, dropping them on the counter.

Then I froze.

There was a box on the counter, about a foot to a side, with a letter on top.

A letter addressed to _me_.

I glared at it from where I stood. It didn't look threatening, but bombs probably didn't. The envelope should be safe enough, I decided.

I picked it up cautiously, the cheap, rough paper alien under my new fingers. It was heavier than it looked, but had no identifying marks. The name on the front was printed onto a sticky label, and there was obviously no return address.

I grabbed a knife from the drawer, and carefully slit it open, pointing it away from me as I did. I could _probably_ deal with any sort of biological attack, but I didn't want to take any chances.

Nothing.

I let out a soft sigh, chuckling to myself. All this fuss over something so anticlimactic. I peered into the envelope, and spotted a folded piece of paper. I pulled it out and unfolded it, and my relief turned to acid in my guts.

_Dear Taylor Anne-Rose Lavere Hebert,_

_I was impressed with your work at the hospital yesterday. There aren't many in this city brave enough to be a true hero._

_If you want to do more to help improve the world, there's a Merchant warehouse on 5 th and Ash. Clear it out tonight. Destroy the drugs and keep the money. If I'm as impressed as I was last night, I'll provide you with information on other criminals. I'm sure the Wards will appreciate such a pro-active attitude._

_Do the right thing._

_\- An Admiring Fan_  
  
P.S. I took the liberty of providing a superior costume, courtesy of our resident super-tailor. I recommend coming up with a cape name that does not give away your powers.

I tipped the envelope to let the other contents slide out. It was a photo of me, asleep next to my dad's hospital bed.

**XxXxX**


	3. 1.3

**1.3**

I instantly flooded my system with calm. I couldn't waste time on panicking with this. The photo, the full name, the fact the parcel and letter were on my kitchen counter – it was all a threat. Do what I say or suffer the consequences.

The photo crumpled in my grip as I struggled against the anger blazing up. I let out a low growl of frustration. Nothing had changed! I was still being pushed around by bullies. And I still couldn't fight back. Who could have found all of this out so quickly, and then done all of this? It didn't make sense.

It could have been a genuine admirer – but the photo put paid to that idea. It had to be someone trying to use me for their own goals. In the end, it didn't matter. I had to do what they said, I couldn't risk Dad getting hurt again because of me.

I opened the box and pulled out the contents with a scowl. Whoever had done this had _definitely_ been through my room, and guessed what I'd been doing with yesterday's purchases, because the costume was basically an expensive version of the one I'd thought up.

There was a royal blue pea coat that looked like it would come down to mid thigh, embroidered with golden lightning and a golden shirt to go beneath it, a white half-face mask with golden highlights that would sit over my eyes, a gold cloth mask for my lower face, white cargo pants with embroidery to match the pea coat, black steel-toed boots with gold laces, and white, fingerless gloves.

I grudgingly admitted that it was a really nice costume. It looked like it would be a little loose on me with how thin I was, but it would probably fit properly when I was back up to my normal weight. It did look suitably heroic, as well. No dark colours, no creepy additions.

I was pretty sure I'd look like a man while wearing it, but then again, it _was_ a disguise.

It was still really creepy how someone knew my sizes, how they had to have searched my room to find that out. I clutched my elbow and pulled my arms tight against myself, shivering slightly at the though. _Ugh_. It was bad enough that the police and the PRT had probably been tramping about the house, poking around in my room, going through my things...

I shook myself once, dismissing the thoughts to the back of my head. There would be time to think about that stuff later. First, food.

I ate until my stomach ached, trying to pack as many calories and as much protein down as possible. I wasn't sure that I was _full_ , because I still felt that nagging, pervasive hunger gnawing at me, but I figured that would be a problem until I put on a little more weight.

Next, shower. I could finally clean off the blood and grime from last night, even if it was against doctor's orders not to get the stitches wet. I'd spent far too long dirty, and there was something cleansing on a deeper than physical level about the hot water sluicing away the filth.

As I waited for my conditioner to work its magic, I considered what I would call myself. Obvious names first then. Heartbreaker? Taken and a villain and _ew._ Circulation? No-one was going to take that seriously. Hemorragia? Villain, taken, and double _ew_. Naming myself after bleeding out was not on the to-do list. I'd considered Euphoria earlier, but considering what the PRT knew about my powers it was best to play it safe and assume they'd link touch-based powers from the new cape last night to touch-based powers from the new cape tonight.

I washed my hair clean and stepped out of the shower to dry off, grimacing at the livid red of my still-healing wounds. What could I do that wasn't intrinsically linked to my powers? Fly? I thought all the good flying cape names were taken – as well as most of the bad ones. I could perceive people around me, make them move, move myself... I'd be really good at dodging. Dodger? That would _definitely_ be taken, and besides, it sounded like a pet's name. Evader and Quickstep were probably also out.

Hmm.

Juke could work. Short, sharp, easy to remember, and it even had a little onomatopoeia with dodging. Something Mom would have appreciated. It was also a little obscure, so it was probably available. I padded over to the computer in the lounge for a quick check online, and I was right. No-one had used the name.

Juke it was then.

I stepped into my room without thinking, and stopped with a jolt. I couldn't look away from my bed. It was stripped of its sheets, but the mattress was stained with blood. My blood. A little goes a long way, with blood, and I hadn't lost a little on that bed. I gulped. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't tear my eyes away, I couldn't stop thinking about what she'd done to me there. Where I should have been _safe_. My wounds started throbbing as I remembered the _pain_. The humiliation, the guts-deep _terror_ of having that psycho over me, holding me down while she tortured me, the joy in her blood as _I_ bled for her satisfaction.

I felt sick. I nearly collapsed there and then, leaning against the door frame to keep myself upright. I finally had to blink, and managed to turn as I broke my line of sight to the bed, slamming the door shut. I slid down the wall outside my room – no, not any more. It wasn't _my_ room. I rested my forehead on my knees, my arms clasped around them as tight as I could bear, and took deep, steadying breaths. In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four. Repeat. I finally managed to pull myself together after who knows how long, just concentrating on my breathing, ignoring everything else, curled up on the floor in the hallway in just a towel, shivering in fear and pain.

I pushed myself to my feet, and closed my eyes. I could do this. I just had to... not look. It would be fine. I opened the door again, my eyes screwed shut, and fumbled my way to my dresser to grab an almost random armful of clothes. I could just about manage by touch, and I didn't want to have to go in there again if I didn't have to. I stumbled back out of the room, collapsing to my hands and knees in the hallway and choking back a sob.

I managed to shut the door to the room again, and staggered into Dad's bedroom to get dressed. I felt far better with my normal clothes on, even though that seemed nonsensical. A flash of normalcy in the insanity that my life had become, I supposed. I went down to the kitchen to brew a pot of tea, grabbed a book from the shelf, and sat at the dining table drinking tea and reading until my hands stopped shaking.

I couldn't put it off any more. I was going to have to try on the costume. As I expected, it was a little big on me, but not overly so. A once-over in the mirror revealed that I did, indeed, look like a long-haired, skinny boy. It was impressive though, with the way the gold tied the outfit together, and the colour scheme really did make me look like a hero. I lifted off the ground slightly, floating a few inches from the floor, and nodded at my reflection. I could work with this.

I settled back down again with hardly a jolt, and took off my half-mask. Ugh. It was really obvious who I was without the white-and-gold ceramic hiding my scars. I changed out of the costume into some shorts and a t-shirt, then stood back in front of the mirror and clenched my fists like Mira had shown me.

A pair of experimental slow punches revealed that the stitches on my abdomen were going to pull uncomfortably, but probably not tear, if I had to punch right-handed. I could deal with that. I practised some more, slow, even punches, trying to get the motion right. It was relaxing, in a way, the focus on the single movement helping to blot out all the other stuff I was worried about. I moved on to repeating the motions for the holds and escapes; the escapes were only useful in specific situations and I only knew a few, but if I ended up in those situations I'd be thankful for it. Plus, the holds would work so long as I could grab someone.

A glance at the clock showed it was getting closer to dark than I expected. My stomach lurched again, anticipation and fear wrestling with each other in my chest, but I forced myself to go to the kitchen and make dinner and brew tea. The hot drink helped to settle me a little, and I choked down almost as much food as I had earlier. I had a couple of hours before full dark, enough time for the meal to digest and for me to get in position, and my stomach decided to focus on that instead of attempting to escape.

I packed my costume into my school backpack, and changed into a thick hoodie and jeans. It was cold out there, and the heavy, baggy clothes helped to conceal who I was. My hair was tied up into a braid, a style I never used in public; yet more distance between me and my costume identity. I couldn't bring myself to hide my hair away completely; it was too much a part of me to do that. But I could hide _me_ while still showing my hair.

Twilight was fast descending, so I slipped out of the back door and headed off into the city. I knew there were a bunch of abandoned and derelict properties towards the Docks. It was a consequence of the abandoned shipping industry, much like the Ship Graveyard. Of course, finding one that wasn't being used for some sort of criminal activity or as a shelter for the homeless was more of a challenge. Luckily, I had an abundance of choice, as well as the inside track on where was suitable. Having a father in the Dockworker's Association paid off sometimes.

That, and sometimes it was good to have somewhere I could go to cry and not bother dad.

I slipped under the half-collapsed doorway, and used my power to lift up to the rusty walkway around the wall of the roofless warehouse. The stairs had long since collapsed, so I set down gently on the old metal, ready to jump back away if it began to collapse, but besides a few creaks and groans as the walkway adjusted to my meagre weight it seemed steady. It was a good spot, up by the little office that overlooked the warehouse floor. The small room was all but destroyed by now, with the floor having rotted away except for a foot or so around the corners. I quickly changed into my costume, and filled my cargo pants with some things I had brought from home: a small first-aid kit, some duct tape, a multitool, a map, a compass and a small flashlight.

I took a deep breath, and pulled up the cloth mask to cover my mouth and nose. I settled the ceramic mask over the upper half of my face, and I wasn't Taylor any more. I was Juke.

I took off into the night sky, going up as fast as I could. I could feel a smile growing beneath my mask as I pushed as hard as possible, blasting into the air. My heart rate sped up, hammering against my ribcage as I went higher and higher. I could feel my oxygen levels dropping as the air thinned, but a quick nudge topped them back up again.

I looked down. From up here, thousands of feet above the city, it was beautiful. None of the graffiti, the trash, the potholed roads. Just hundreds of thousands of lights, casting a faint illumination against what few clouds there were up here. I laughed and cheered and flailed like a lunatic as I finally got to let loose with my flight, so high above the city you'd need a telescope to spot me. I was _free_ up here, no-one to bother me, no-one to _judge_ me. Just me.

But I wasn't up there for myself. Not yet. I had a Merchant warehouse to take out, and I only had tonight to do it.

I swooped back down towards the city, aiming for roughly the right area, stopping once I could make out the streets clearly. I pulled out the map and compass, holding the flashlight in my teeth, and spun slowly in place until I lined up the roads to their representations. Navigating from the air was a challenge, when I couldn't read the street names and I couldn't rely on my regular landmarks – everything was different from my elevated position.

I was on Oak, so … three streets north would put me on Ash, and then I could head east until I hit the right place. I nodded to myself and put away my tools, then drifted in the right direction.

It didn't take long to find the place; it was a dilapidated three-storey brick building, with holes in the roof, half the windows missing and the other half boarded up. I could feel six people inside, and two were lounging outside the front door, passing a joint back and forth. I hovered just above the roof, out of sight of all of them.

From the drug levels in the systems of everyone in the building, I was surprised any of them were _breathing_ , let alone moving. Three were slumped together, from the look of it collapsed on a sofa on the ground floor. One of them was sat on the top floor, just beneath me. The last two were moving about on the middle floor, moving something from one place to another from the way they were acting.

The two outside weren't really an issue at the moment – they were looking for people on the street, I assumed, and would only be a problem if I made too much noise. Besides, a quick peek over the back of the building revealed plenty of entrance points, so there was no way they'd spot me.

I thought for a moment about the best approach. The mysterious party wanted me to clear this place out, so I'd need to get rid of the drugs that were presumably in there, and take the money, and _also_ deal with the Merchants there. The plan solidified in my head, and I moved to put it into action.

I slipped over the side of the building, on the back side where the guards couldn't see me. I could tell which way the guy on the top floor was facing, so I went in through a smashed window out of his line of sight, my flight allowing me to pass though without a sound. I was even holding my breath, using my power to keep my blood oxygenated, so that I wouldn't alert him that way.

I was in an empty room, strewn with trash and with a small sapling growing in one corner below a hole in the roof. The guy was in the next room over, so I slid over to the doorway, staying near the ceiling as I checked over the lintel to make sure I'd have a clear path to him.

He was sat at a table which was overflowing with money, and seemed to be counting it into a trash bag. I almost gasped at how _much_ there was. I knew drugs earned the gangs a lot of cash, but seeing it in person was something completely different.

Except for the stack of filled trash bags in one corner and a clingfilm-wrapped brick of something white, the room was otherwise empty. I floated through the door and over to the money-counter, then grabbed his face, feeling his lights flip from blue to gold as I did. Before he had a chance to speak, I locked him in place, stopping him from moving.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” I whispered in his ear. “I'm just arresting you, okay?”

I didn't let him answer, putting him to sleep. I stood him up with his hands behind his back. I duct taped his arms together, then his legs, and then I duct taped his arms and legs together, before placing a final piece across his mouth. As an afterthought, I cleaned out all the drugs in his blood stream and adjusted his blood composition back to something healthy.

Okay, one down. That was the easy bit, though. One person by themselves was hardly a threat to me, especially if I had the advantage of surprise.

I scooped the rest of the cash into a trash bag and put it with the rest. Seven in all, it looked like it would be a hell of a lot of money. Not that I could carry all of it, but a couple of bags would still be a big haul.

I checked on the others in the house, but they didn't seem to have noticed me. Good. The two below me were still moving stuff, so I waited for a moment before reaching out and tugging on the right foot of one of them as she was about to put her weight on it. It jerked a few inches sideways, and she tumbled to the floor. I could hear her swearing from where I was, which was impressive.

I sped around the top floor, quickly finding the staircase, and floated upside down so I could poke my head around the corner. The middle floor was a single open room, with signs that the interior walls had been smashed down at some point. There were piles of those white packages everywhere, a pallet of similar ones in the centre of the room, with tables on three sides of it. There were packages on the tables, torn open to expose the white powder inside, and big sacks of another white powder laid open next to the tables.

It looked like they were doctoring whatever the powder was, cocaine or heroin probably, with the other white stuff. Chalk? Flour? It didn't really matter. I had to get rid of it somehow.

The drug packers were between one of the tables and one of the piles, the man helping the woman to her feet. They both looked like, well, drug addicts. Filthy, ragged clothes, loose skin, missing teeth, the works.

The problem was that the man was wearing a mask. _Fuck_. I knew the Merchants had capes, but I had no idea what they could do. The masked man was laughing as he hauled the woman up.

“You too high to work, girl? Thought you was good at this,” he rasped.

“Fuck you, bitch, I got this. Wasn't me as made me fell.”

He snorted and waved off the comment with a grin, showing his gums. _Ugh_.

“What, you think Scion come down and knock you over? Said you was laying off the acid after that ant thing, you started again?” He mocked.

She rolled her eyes and started collecting up the packages she'd dropped. I floated up a few inches so I wasn't in sight. I thought for a moment. How was the best way to do this?

I was pulled from my thoughts by a sharp, painful tug on my braid. _Shit._ I'd forgotten my hair was hanging down, and someone had spotted it and grabbed it. I pulled against the tug, but immediately regretted it as I felt my hair begin to tear from my head.

“Well well well. Looks like we got a visitor. What's your name, newbie?”

I twisted in the air until I could see the man holding my hair. He was still where he'd been standing before, but had made a tendril out of the debris lying around and snagged my hair with it. I could feel it flowing up my braid as the man pulled more trash to himself.

I pushed at his feet, and he stumbled, his concentration broken just enough that I could pull away from the trash tentacle.

“You can call me Juke.”

“Hah! We got royalty, hear that? A real Duke, come to visit.”

“I said Juke, with a J, moron,” I snapped. How high was this guy?

“Well, your Majesty, I weren't too good in school, but even I know you spells Duke with a D.”

He smirked at me, and lashed out with his debris whip, smacking me into the ceiling. While I was distracted by the pain he'd thrown himself at one of the big sacks of white powder, and it was rapidly coating him. He extended more tendrils, most of them slashing at me, some of them seeking out the other sacks of powder and pumping more into his control.

I had to end this quickly, before he could cover himself completely, while I could still touch him. I couldn't sense his tendrils, couldn't tell where they were without looking, so I'd have to rely on speed.

I blasted towards him at top speed, head first to minimise the area he could aim at, jerking myself around randomly as I approached, trying to throw off his aim. I pushed at his feet again, but he'd anchored himself now and I couldn't budge him. A tendril shot past me, inches from my face, and I instinctively shoved myself away from it.

Right into an attack that caught me across the shoulders and hammered me into the floor hard enough that I heard my nose break. Fucking _ow._ Before I could clear my head enough to move again, he grabbed me around the ankle and whipped me into the ceiling, then grabbed me before I hit the floor again and pinned me to the wall.

“We're always recruitin', newbie,” he chuckled. “But you looks like you needs convincing.”

He dipped one hand into the stack of pure drugs in the centre of the room, bringing out a handful of white powder. He began walking towards me, and I struggled against the bonds holding me to the wall. It wasn't working, whatever his power was it could apply more force than mine.

“Now, remember, first time's always free.”

He pulled down my cloth mask and shoved the powder into my face, then punched me in the stomach, forcing me to take a deep breath. I could feel it enter my bloodstream, and removed it the instant it did, coughing and spluttering as I tried to clear my lungs. He'd made a mistake though.

He'd touched me.

I smashed him into the ceiling, then the floor, then again a few more times just to make sure he got the message. I put him to sleep as I pulled my mask back up, then floated over to him, not trusting my legs after the beating I'd taken. I wasn't sure how I was going to restrain him, considering his powers.

I didn't get much of a chance to think about it though, as a bullet caught me in the shoulder. I pulled the Merchant cape up in front of me as fast as I could, taking cover behind his unconscious body.

_Fuckfuckfuckfuck._

I'd been fucking _shot_. I could feel the slug in my shoulder, surrounded by golden light. It hadn't hit bone, thank goodness, but it still hurt like nothing else. I pushed it out and corrected my blood flow, floating back towards the staircase with the Merchant still in front of me. They weren't high enough to risk shooting their boss, and even in this neighbourhood gunfire attracted attention.

I could sense the two outside coming up the stairs. I needed to either get out or finish this, _now_. I pulled light from my wounds, the blood floating free painlessly, and smacked it into one of the gangsters across the room.

His lights turned gold as he tumbled to the floor from the attack, and the cape's lights switched back to blue, dropping him to the ground. I put the gangster to sleep before splitting the blood into three and hitting the others with it, knocking them out one after another the second I gained control of their lights. I regathered my blood and split it to two, waiting until the final pair of goons were on the stairs to take them out.

I pulled my blood back, returning it to its proper place in my lights, and just managed to get my mask out of the way before sank to my hands and knees and threw up.

I was crying, shaking uncontrollably. I didn't know how I was feeling, fear/joy/excitement/guilt warring inside me as I leaned back to sit on my heels and hug myself until I finally stopped shivering. I could feel my nose out of joint, the lights flowing though it misaligned, so I fixed it without thinking, and vomited again as the pain hit me.

Ugh, I was such a crappy hero. Couldn't even fight some goons without breaking down. I spat a few times to clear my mouth, and wiped it off with an antiseptic wipe from my first aid kit, before standing again and pulling out my duct tape.

I was going to need to buy a lot more of it if I was going to be doing this hero business for long.

It took me a few minutes to get all the gangsters tied up and piled by the front door. I laid a trail of packages of drugs from them up the stairs, then rang the police from one of the goon's mobile phones to report my arrest. I hung up and gave the cape a final dose to keep him unconscious, then flew back up the stairs, through the money room and out into the night sky, hauling my well-earned gains back to the stars.

Once I was high enough, I made my way back to where I'd changed, and stashed the bags on the roof of the office.

As I landed on the warehouse floor, once again in civilian clothes, I winced. That knee was _not_ in good shape. Walking home was excruciating, every other step I took putting almost unbearable

weight on my wrenched knee. I was going to spend all of tomorrow on the couch with an icepack, I could tell. Not to mention how hard it had been to change when my left arm wasn't working properly. I'd had to use my power to move it in the right way, in the end, because it wasn't obeying orders otherwise.

At least I wasn't going to bruise.

I'd flooded my body with healing factors, but I was making a conscious choice not to use my powers to numb the pain. I didn't want to hurt myself worse, and I didn't _need_ to not feel the pain. It was just unpleasant.

As I limped up my street, exhausted and injured, I almost cried with relief as my house came into view. I'd long since succumbed to tunnel vision, and frankly I just didn't care any more, so I was very surprised when I unlocked the back door to find someone waiting for me.

“And where have you been, young lady?”

**XxXxX**


	4. Interlude 1.a - PRT Sergeant Deborah Lang

**Interlude 1.a – PRT Sergeant Deborah Lang**

Debbie was sat on the sofa in the PRT break room, enjoying a coffee, when her comm unit blared to life in her ear.

“ _Lang, report in._ ”

“This is Lang, Control, what have we got?”

“ _Need you to play taxi for Clockblocker. Director's switching him with Shadow Stalker, but she and Aegis are already out on patrol._ ”

“For fuck's sake! Don't we have guys for this? I'm a decorated veteran, not a babysitter.”

“ _Bitch all you want, Debs, boss says jump, you ask what colour.”_

“Yeah, yeah, I know. What did Clock say to piss off the director this time?”

“ _Boss is on the warpath alright, but it isn't Clock's fault this time. Stalker's gonna get it in the neck when you land her back at base.”_

Debbie sighed, but stood anyway, tapping the lapel on her white uniform, the freshly-pressed jacket at odds with the rumpled beret she pulled from a pocket and straightened out.

“Confirmed, Control. We'll head out now. At least tell me I don't need the whole team, or combat gear?”

“ _Just take Pilarski. Ramirez and Chester can stay on base. Standard uniform is fine, you shouldn't run into any trouble.”_

“Thank fuck for small mercies.”

She left the break room, heading for the elevator.

“Kaz, you read?”

“ _Want me to grab Clock?”_

“Depends, where are you?”

“ _Garage.”_

Why did she even bother to ask? Kazimir spent every free moment up to his elbows in engine parts.

“Just get the van started. Take it 'round front and we'll meet you out there.”

“ _Aye aye.”_

Ugh. She hated dealing with the Wards. A bunch of untrained, unruly kids. It was bad enough having them at home, and those were _her_ kids. Not as bad as getting a newbie on the squad, at least. She didn't have to interact often, save the odd collection of captured villains, but every time she did it left a sour taste in her mouth.

Kids should be kids, not fighting in the streets just because they could glow orange or something. Child soldiers had never ended well, and here she was, helping her own government make them. She tried her best not to think about it, honestly, and hoped against hope that her kids would never have to make that decision.

She stepped out of the elevator on the Wards floor and moved over to the intercom.

“Clockblocker, you ready?”

“ _Yeah, gimme a second, just putting on my mask. Had to pee, and this suit is not easy to do that in.”_

Case in point, exhibit A.

The door hissed open and Clockblocker stepped out, looking up at her, his costume a nearly skin-tight full body outfit decorated with clock faces.

“Hey. Thanks for giving me a ride out, I know you guys have better things to do.”

“Hmf. Just don't get in the way, kid.” She strode to the elevator, pressing the button for the lobby and then holding the door open while Clockblocker caught up.

“Any idea what Shadow Stalker did to Miss Pi... the director? Phase her paperwork into a wall or something?”

Debbie stared him down. The director had _given_ more for the PRT than this kid could possibly understand, and he dared to disrespect her? He gulped audibly.

“Oooookay, that's a no then. I'll just assume she mouthed off. That's why the director tears my head off.”

She almost cracked a smile at that. Clockblocker was notorious for the number of times he got reprimanded. If he could wait until the end of the week for his next slip-up, she was looking at a tidy win in the betting pool. Ramirez kept getting lucky though; if she didn't know better she'd think the other woman was convincing the boy to fuck up on her schedule.

They left the PRT building through the front entrance, and she made sure Clockblocker was secured in the back of the van, out of sight, before she slipped into the passenger seat next to the stocky blond man, and slid the grate behind her open so she could keep an eye on him.

“Uh, is that Pilarski driving? Because there's no barf bag back...”

Kazimir's foot hit the floor, the accelerator flat to the base of the cab, and the van blasted forwards like a rocket, cutting Clockblocker off mid sentence. Debbie chuckled.

“We got far, Kaz?”

“Fifteen minutes, if I keep taking it easy like this.”

She turned to look at the Ward. He was looking a bit green, even through the suit. She grinned.

“Floor it.”

**XxXxX**

“Fucking Piggot, pulling me from patrol. I've been looking forward to this all day.” Shadow Stalker hadn't stopped complaining the whole way back to the PRT headquarters, her shoulders hunched up aggressively under her long black cloak.

Debbie was considering foaming the back of the van just to shut her up, not that the girl couldn't deal with that; the ability to pass through solid matter would have made her a bitch to deal with non-lethally if she was a villain. Even Clockblocker wasn't this obnoxious. Well, not all the time. At least with Kaz driving they only had to put up the girl for a few minutes, instead of the half hour or so it would have taken with Debbie behind the wheel.

Not that she was an incompetent driver; it was just that Kaz spent so much time tuning up and balancing their van's engine to perfection and had done so many advanced driving courses that he was a genius with it. Still couldn't shoot much better than needed to pass Basic, though.

Her comms crackled on just as they pulled into the underground garage.

“ _Lang, you need to deliver Stalker straight to Piggot's office. No detours. Boss is pissed.”_

Debbie simply sighed. It was shaping up to be one of those days. It was her day-to-swing shift change, too, so she'd be working the longest day of her month.

“Shadow Stalker, with me. We're going to the Director's office.”

A disgusted grunt was all the response she got. _Fucking teenagers. I get enough of that at home._

As they made their way to the lift, her phone buzzed. A text from Claire. She smiled

_Hey, heard SS got dropped in the shit. Got any tasty details?_

Her thumb tapped out a quick negative response, and she tucked the phone away just as the elevator doors opened to the Director's floor. To her surprise, Armsmaster was waiting for them, expression unreadable between his blue and white power armour and half-face helmet. His beard looked a little unkempt as well. The director must have pulled him straight from the lab.

“Good afternoon, Sergeant, Shadow Stalker. Please come with me.” He gestured for Shadow Stalker to lead the way, and as Debbie drew parallel with him he passed her a stun gun.

She shot him a quick quizzical look, and he tilted his head minutely but deliberately at Shadow Stalker. _If she causes trouble._ Tazing a teenager wasn't on her to-do list, even when they _were_ annoying, but she knew he'd kick up a fuss if she didn't take the weapon.

Debbie clasped her hands behind her back as she walked, concealing the stun gun from easy view, and took a position just inside the door of the Director's office, shutting it behind her.

Piggot was there, sat behind her desk, with a number of manilla folders spread out in front of her. She was leaning forwards, resting her weight on her elbows, holding a sheet of paper and glaring at it as though she could set it on fire with her mind. Her severe blonde bob did her heavy frame no favours, making her seem bigger than she was, but it accentuated her angry eyes. Armsmaster set a hand on Shadow Stalker's shoulder and firmly sat her in front of Piggot's desk.

“So. You fucked up, Hess,” Piggot said. Debbie shifted uncomfortably. “You fucked the hell up. What the fuck were you thinking, pulling this? Did you think we wouldn't find out? That we wouldn't do anything?”

“I don't know what the fuck you're talking about.” Shadow Stalker crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair.

Piggot opened one of the folders and slid it across the table. Inside were a number of photos of someone – boy or girl, Debbie couldn't tell. In one, they were heavily bandaged, lying in a hospital bed, and hooked up to a half-dozen different machines. There was a tube down their throat.

The next, a close up of maimed hands, fingers cleanly amputated. The next, eyes clouded a milky white. The next, a full-body shot, from just before the girl – obvious now - had been treated. Debbie felt sick.

“She woke up this morning, Hess. And wouldn't you know it, your name came up.”

Shadow Stalker snorted, shoving the folder away.

“So fucking what? Who's this supposed to be?”

Piggot's mouth curled into what could only be described as a smile, although it expressed anything but happiness.

“ _That_ is one Taylor Hebert, Hess. You know, the girl you personally shoved into a locker filled with foetid waste in front of two witnesses? It's _amazing_ how forthcoming people can be when they might be slapped with an attempted murder charge. Your little friends turned on a dime when they heard. I guess lawyering must be hereditary.”

Debbie could hear the wood creaking as Shadow Stalker's hands clenched around the armrests of her chair.

“Well, how are you going to fix it?”

Piggot laughed, an empty, mocking sound.

“Fix it? You're _fucked_ , Hess. A black girl pulled up on attempted murder against a white girl? The Empire is stacking the jury _as we speak_. You're looking at fifteen to twenty, with the witness testimony against you, the judge that Kaiser's probably owned for the past decade, and a jury that will either be skinheads or too terrified to oppose the verdict. Empire-friendly cops got assigned the case off the _bat_. You're going to get crucified, and there's nothing I can do about it but make sure they don't link this to us.”

Debbie winced. Shadow Stalker looked like she was about to either run away or jump the desk to throttle Piggot, but Armsmaster shifted slightly, resting one hand on his halberd with an audible tap of metal on meta, and Stalker slumped back in the chair.

“I'm confining you to base or home until the police officially press charges. I'd love to slap a shock collar on you, but regulations say something about 'innocent until proven guilty', so we're going to have to go on trust.”

Piggot gave Shadow Stalker a meaningful look.

“Get out of my sight.”

The girl snapped up out of the seat and stormed out of the door, shoulder-checking Debbie as she went.

“Make sure she gets to the Wards area.”

Debbie nodded, and left the office at double time to catch up with Shadow Stalker before she got to the elevator. He phone buzzed. A text from Tommy. She smiled.

_Heard SS got in trouble. I can help, if you give me contact._

She considered for a moment. No matter how awful the things the girl had done were, she didn't deserve this. She'd be drawn and quartered in the press and the courts, just to show what happened when 'their sort' happened to 'forget their place'. Tommy could help avert that? She considered that a victory against the Nazis.

She started to ring Tommy back as she waited for the elevator doors to close, before she held the phone out to Shadow Stalker.

“Someone wants to help you, Stalker. An old friend of mine.” She raised a hand to forestall any comments. “Just hear him out if nothing else.”

After a moment's hesitation, the girl snatched it up and put it to her ear. _Good_.

**XxXxX**

Stalker had run away, two nights ago. She considered herself partly at fault for that, but couldn't bring herself to feel guilty. Better a fugitive than murdered in prison by some bitch with a swastika tattoo. She felt a little bad for the Hebert girl, especially after the second attack on her, but that wasn't her fault. It wasn't even Stalker. From what she knew of Tommy's plans, he'd have the young woman working somewhere in another city, maybe even out of the country. He had a lot of fingers in a lot of very profitable pies.

Not that it bore much relevance to the current case – she had a perp to interview.

“So, Mush.” She began, looking the man over. He was filthy, even in the fresh orange jumpsuit he'd been dressed in. He'd shucked the top half, tying the arms around his waist to reveal his dirt-smeared, drug-splattered torso, his track-marked arms, obscene tattoos and visible ribs filling her with revulsion.

He still had his mask – nothing more than a trash bag tied around the top of his head, eye holes cut in it – and up this close it was obvious he was still high. Luckily, she couldn't smell him, as they were separated by a plexiglass barrier. He was cuffed to one side of the table, while she had his rap sheet laid out in front of her, a folder several inches thick.

“Third strike, hmm? Birdcage is gonna eat you alive.”

He spat to one side, lips peeling back into a grotesque leer as he leaned forwards.

“Sure thing, Party girl. What you got this time? Can't foam me, how you gonna get me there?”

Debbie glared.

“Posession, intent to sell, trafficking... that's just from tonight. We've got plenty of assault, assault with a deadly weapon, assault with a parahuman power, murder ... well, I could go on, but we'd be here 'til sunset next year. You got anything that might make us reconsider the 'Cage?”

He leaned back in his chair, still smirking.

“Thought I'd wait for the lawyer. Y'know, my rights and all that. But go on, fish. What you after?”

“Well, a good start would be who dealt with you tonight.”

“Fair deal. Duke kicked my _ass,_ Party. Thought I had him, but nope! Uses me like a fuckin' bouncy ball, wham bam slam, y'know? Then I'm _out_ , no warning.”

“Some kind of Brute?”

He spat again, frowning.

“Fuck no. Some floaty bullshit. Tele-whatsit, y'know? Pushed me about without touchin' me.”

“But you said you thought you had them?”

“Yeah, newbie, no doubt. First fight.” He belched. “Froze up, talked, the whole thing. Good duds though. Probably manage to score a few hits for 'em. Anyway, kid lets me get powdered like a dumbass, acts all surprised when I fuck them up.”

“So, an inexperienced cape, telekinesis, you land a few hits and they ignore them?”

He rolled his shoulders, grimacing.

“Nah, had 'em pinned. Make the pitch, new blood's always good, yeah? They ignore it, _that's_ when they kick my ass. Wake up in the Party House itself.”

“Anything else you'd like to tell me?”

“Fuck off, Party. Cape stuff is one thing, everythin' else you talk to my lawyer.”

Debbie held back a sigh. She thought she might have managed to get him talking, but he knew his rights, and obviously wasn't high enough to let anything relevant slip. Cape fights weren't a legal issue unless non-parahumans were involved, or other laws were broken during them, so he hadn't given her anything to go on.

“Well, enjoy your stay, Mush. Hope you enjoyed the sunlight today, it's the last time you're ever going to see it.”

He didn't bother to respond other than to give her a little wave from where his hands were cuffed. _Asshole._

**Interlude 1.a End**

**XxXxX**


	5. 1.4

**1.4**

“Auntie Su? When did you get here?”

The short, matronly-looking Chinese woman glowered up at me, sweeping one hand through her black and grey hair.

“When your father rang me from hospital and told me what had happened. We rushed up from Chicago on the first flight, and when we get here, you're missing?” She stepped quickly forwards, and I shrank back, but she rolled her eyes and grabbed me in a hug, strong arms pulling my head down to her shoulder. “Do not worry us like that again, Taylor.”

I wrapped my working arm around her in return, leaning a little of my weight on her to take the pressure off my knee. I must have let out a gasp of pain or relief, because she pulled back and held me at arms length.

“Oh, my baby girl, what did they _do_ to you? Your beautiful face … and why were you out after dark in this condition? You _know_ this city is too dangerous for young ladies like you, now that no men of honour protect the streets.” She looped my uninjured arm over her shoulder and tipped me a little so that my weight rested on her, then began helping me into the lounge.

I sank onto the couch with a soft sigh, and Auntie Su bustled off back to the kitchen. I could hear her open the freezer, the crunching of ice and scrape of frozen food indicating she was fishing for something. She emerged with a bag of frozen peas and a tea towel, passing them to me without comment.

“Now, Lenny and Bill are here too, but I made them go to bed before they fell over. You know what workaholics they can be, been up since four this morning.” Su sat next to me, holding my hand in both her own, a strong, comforting grip.

I gave a quiet laugh. They may have been bad, but Auntie Su was worse. She'd have been up at least an hour before them, and probably wouldn't go to sleep until long after I did. I sometimes wondered if she even needed to, or if she just operated on stubborn will. I wrapped the peas in the tea towel and rested them on my knee with a blissful smile.

“So, was it a boy?”

I flinched in surprise, blushing furiously.

“What!? No! No, nothing like that.”

“Good. I would not like to have to send Bill over to deal with someone who was taking advantage of you, Taylor. You know how we feel about these things.”

I rolled my eyes. They were so old-fashioned sometimes. No wonder Mom had butted heads with them so much.

“I know, I know. But you aren't my parents, Aunt Su. It's not your place to do that stuff. I can make my own decisions.”

“I'm not saying you can't, Taylor. But we _would_ like you to wait until you are married first. That's besides the point, though. Why _were_ you out, then?”

“I... I couldn't take it, being in the house. Not alone, not for that long. I didn't feel safe.” My stomach curdled at the weak lie, twisting and tangling my guts into guilty knots.

Su narrowed her eyes slightly, obviously suspicious – she never wasn't – but seemed to accept my statement.

“I had Lenny clean up your bedroom. She's done what she could, but the mattress will need to be replaced. I would recommend you sleep in here for tonight. We rented a car, so we can take you out shopping tomorrow.”

I smiled at her. Auntie Su and the others had been there for us when everything went wrong, time and again. They had been friends with my uncle, and through him my mom, and they had helped us when he died, supported us when Mom died, and now they were here to help again. I owed them a lot.

“Where are Lenny and Uncle Bill sleeping?”

“Bill's in your dad's room, on the floor. Lenny's in the guest room. She's willing to share, but you know how badly that woman snores. I wouldn't say it's your best option.”

I chuckled, leaning back against the sofa.

“Mm. I just want to sleep, really. Here's fine. I'm exhausted.”

Su smiled and stood, disappearing up the stairs on silent feet. She was probably getting sheets from the cupboards. It was a good job I'd stashed my costume in the warehouse, with the money. I doubt anything could have stopped Su from going through it, and I _really_ didn't want to explain why I had a coat with a bullet hole in it in there. I'd probably wake up to it freshly laundered with Auntie Su giving me one of her _looks_.

I smiled to myself, my eyes slowly drifting shut as I dozed off, the adrenaline crash and pain and exertion taking their toll.

**XxXxX**

I woke to the sound of frying food, and the smell of eggs. My stomach made its presence known with a loud growl, and I struggled to push the blankets off myself, which was a challenge with only one functioning arm. My knee was feeling better, although it was still tender, but my shoulder was still that mix of painful and numb, stretching down my arm, that was worrying me. I'd need to put together a sling if I wanted to keep it out of the way, and if it didn't improve in a few days I'd have to see a doctor.

At least I could say it was because of the attack. It would even be sort-of true. I finally managed to untuck myself, the firm folds and tight wrapping indicating that Su had covered me after I passed out, making sure the 'bed' was tidily made around me. Standing, I put tentative weight on my bad knee, and sucked in a hiss of pain. It hurt, still, but I could manage. It wasn't the stabbing agony of last night, at least.

I stumped into the kitchen, where Lenny was stood at the stove. She was a tall, blunt-featured brunette, thickset with muscle, in her early thirties. Her bare, tanned arms were marked with dozens of scars, and she had a short verse in Arabic tattooed on her right shoulder. I knew it was a line from the Quran – 'Allah is with those who are righteous and those who do good', she had told me when I asked, long ago. She was in a sleeveless red t-shirt and blue jeans, a green bandanna tied around her forehead to hold her hair back.

Su was setting the table, while her husband read the paper. Bill was a broad, slightly overweight man, bushy white beard standing out starkly against his dark skin and accentuating his bald head. He was the oldest of the three, and with his paunch and beard I often considered him to look like a black Santa Claus. His attitude only helped with the impression – he was cheerful and friendly, and indulgent to a fault. Without his wife, I suspected he would have spoiled me rotten as a child. As always, he was in an immaculate tweed suit, his horn-rimmed glasses completing the academic look.

He looked up as I entered the kitchen and smiled at me, rising from his seat.

“Taylor! It's good to see you, darling. How are you feeling?” His voice was surprisingly light and high-pitched, a delicate tenor compared to the rumbling bass you expected looking at him. He pulled out a chair for me, waiting until I sat to slide it back into place. An old fashioned gentleman, as always.

“Thanks, Uncle Bill, it's great to see you too. I'm feeling a little stiff, but I think it'll pass. Did you sleep alright?”

“Oh, no problem, no problem at all, my dear. I'm glad to see you at last. We were very worried when we arrived last night and you were gone.” He peered over his glasses at me, concern clear on his face.

I looked down at the table, embarrassed and slightly ashamed.

“I know, Auntie Su read me the riot act last night.”

He smiled again, patting me on the hand. Him being an old-fashioned gentleman had its downsides, too, like how patronising he could be. He didn't even realise it, thinking he was being kind and helpful, which meant I couldn't bring myself to call him on it.

“Don't worry, dear. We're here now, and if anyone tries anything else, well, we'll deal with it.”

I saw Lenny nod solemnly, and flex one arm, patting her biceps reassuringly. I grinned back at her, and she shot me a wink.

“We've got scrambled eggs, chicken, pancakes, and stir fried greens for breakfast. Want anything else, Tay?” Lenny's voice was rough and scratchy, a legacy of too many cigarettes and too much whiskey too young.

“That sounds great, Lenny, but I thought it was supposed to be breakfast, not dinner?” I grinned at her. She and Su were always trying to get me to eat more. My current skinniness was probably almost as distressing for them as my scars.

“You'll never catch a good husband if you don't give them something to hold onto, Tay. And then we'll never get to play with your kids. Would you do that to me?” Lenny gave an over-exaggerated pout, eyes wide, and I replied with an awkward laugh.

I never felt comfortable when they started talking about children and marriage like it wasn't something I _had_ to do, but simply something that _would_ happen. When Mom had been around they'd kept the comments to a minimum, because she'd tear into them for their attitude, but now she was gone the hints had got more and more obvious.

“Has Dad called today yet?”

“Oh! Yes, he called earlier to let us know that they would probably be releasing him tomorrow. There was no major damage to the arm, so he shouldn't need further surgery. He is going to lose a bit of mobility, but considering the alternative... well, thank God, that's all I can say.” Su crossed herself.

I nodded agreement with the sentiment, even if I didn't quite agree with the words being used.

“And he said he'd finished the application for your school transfer.”

I smiled, a genuine one this time, relieved that I would definitely never have to return to Winslow.

“When did he do that? He should have been resting.”

“You know what Danny's like, dear. He wouldn't be still if both his legs were broken, so being shot in the shoulder hardly slowed him down. He's probably been working from the hospital bed since five minutes after you left.”

We all laughed at that, the image of a half-dozen nurses trying in vain to keep my dad in bed flashing into my head. Lenny brought the post over from the stove to the table, and we all fell quiet as we tucked into breakfast.

I was ravenous, tearing through my first plate in a handful of minutes, my second in not much more time, and only slowing down when I got halfway through the third. _Ugh_. Too fast. I felt overstuffed, but still hungry, just like I had at every meal since I woke from my coma. I hoped it would pass soon, once I put on some weight again, because having an uncomfortably full stomach while hunger still gnawed at me was rapidly wearing thin.

I leaned back in my chair with a groan, and finally pulled my attention from my plate to see the other three at the table staring wide-eyed at me.

“Wow, Tay, I was just joking. You don't have to stuff yourself like a turkey, girl.”

I grimaced and shook my head.

“It's the healing I got after my coma. Panacea had to use up all my fat stores to regrow my fingers and muscles, so I'm way underweight and hungry all the time.”

I pulled my sleeve back to the elbow to demonstrate, revealing my stick-thin arm, pale and scarred.

Lenny stood and quickly moved to my side, wrapping me in a hug.

**XxXxX**

We left the house soon after breakfast, and spent a few hours picking out a new mattress for my bed and buying some new bedsheets. Lenny forced me to pick out a mobile phone, and then put all three of them on speed dial. We headed to the hospital afterwards, so I could check up on Dad, and make sure he wasn't terrorising the doctors too badly.

When we arrived, he was sat up in bed with a laptop, typing away, but he looked up with a broad smile as we entered the room.

“Hey, Taylor. Good to see you again, sweetheart. Thanks for coming, Bill, Su, Lenny.”

Bill stepped forwards to shake Dad's hand, then the two women gave him brief hugs.

“You look a little rough there, Danny. Glad you decided to call us,” Bill said.

“I'm sorry to pull you away from Chicago like this, Bill. I know you've got a lot going on over there.”

Bill snorted and waved a dismissive hand.

“Family comes first, Danny. Andy's family to me and the girls, so Taylor and you are family too. Besides, we've been talking about moving back here for a while now. This might be all for the good.”

Dad smiled, shutting the laptop and placing it on the table next to his bed.

“You never did like having to move away, did you? Glad you feel like you can come back now.”

Bill nodded.

“Business is looking up, and there's some opportunities in Brockton. Might be we were sent a sign.”

Dad responded with a non-committal grunt. Like Mom and I, he wasn't religious in the slightest.

“Anyway, I'm sure you two want to catch up. It was good to see you, Danny. Taylor can give us a call when she needs to be picked up. We'll be getting reacquainted with the Bay.”

They left with a further round of handshakes and hugs, and soon enough I was alone with Dad.

“I didn't tell them about your new skills, if you were worried, sweetheart.”

I shook my head, a faintly embarrassed smile on my face.

“To be honest, I didn't even think about it, Dad. So, you managed to get the transfer paperwork done?”

“Yep. I was on the phone to Blackwell for all of five minutes before she agreed to pull some strings to get you priority entry for Arcadia. Something about not wanting to be named in an attempted murder case makes people amazingly co-operative. You should be able to start next week, if you feel up to it.”

I felt like jumping up and down and shouting, joy bubbling up in my chest at the thought of being able to go to a _proper_ school. Of not having to see my tormentors any more. I didn't even try to fight down the silly grin that found its way onto my face.

Dad was smiling too, but his had a sad edge to it, and I could see the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

“God, Taylor, it's been so long since I've seen you looking like that,” he rasped, looking down. “I can't believe I missed it. I promise I'll do better from now on.”

I clutched his hand, the smile falling from my face.

“Dad, please, it wasn't your fault. I didn't tell you anything, I locked you out.”

He sighed and shook his head, then looked me straight in the eye, gaze intense.

“No, Taylor. It _was_ my fault. I failed as a father, and I can't ever forgive myself for that. I can only try to make up for it as much as I can from now on, even if it hurts.”

I squeezed his hand, smiling sadly back at him. I didn't want to dare to hope, yet, that he would keep his word, but I missed my dad. I missed having him _there_ , someone I could lean on no matter the weight, and who would support me.

“And on that note... we need to talk about your powers.”

I sighed. I didn't want to do this. But if Dad was trying, I had to at least reciprocate the effort.

“What about them, Dad?”

“I've been doing some research, while I've been stuck here. Do you know the average life expectancy of an independent cape? Three months from their debut. I don't want that to happen to you, sweetheart. I'd rather you didn't do any fighting at all, but if I can't stop you, please join up with one of the hero groups – we've got the Wards and New Wave for big teams here, and the Baker Street Irregulars might not be major news, but they stay safe and make a big contribution to crime solving.”

I was taken aback by the fact that my dad had looked into this so deeply, but I supposed I shouldn't really be surprised. I was his baby girl, and he was worried about me.

“I'd _prefer_ if you just helped out at the hospital. Panacea doesn't fight, and she's probably saved more lives than any other hero on the planet. With what you did for me, and the way the doctors have been talking, I'm sure you'd be in just as high demand.”

I smiled at that idea. Saving lives and actually _helping_ , not just going out and beating up gangsters? That was what a real hero was. I felt a nagging doubt at the idea of not fighting at all, though. After yesterday night, I wasn't sure I could give it up. It had been terrifying, painful, exhilarating, and, frankly, both the scariest thing I had ever done and the most fun.

But I didn't need Dad to worry about that. I could let him think I was just helping at the hospital, keep that secret identity separate from Juke, and he wouldn't need to be concerned.

“That sounds like a great idea, Dad. Since I got my powers, I've wanted to help people with them, and the hospital seems like it's the best way to do that.”

He smiled back at me, looking relieved.

“I'm so glad to hear that, Taylor. You don't know how worried I was that you'd want to go out and get into fights with people like Kaiser. ”

“There's no way I want to go up against him, Dad, I'm not insane. Do you know when they want me to start helping?”

He chuckled.

“If you ask the nurse when she comes around in about ten minutes, she'll get you working right away. They've even got something together to hide your identity. Thought of a name yet?”

I had thought of a name, back when I first realised I had powers. It was a lot more pleasant than Juke, and it even had that Greek twist to it that would associate it to Panacea, helping to solidify the difference in identities and my powers as a healer.

“Euphoria.”

**XxXxX**


	6. 1.5

**1.5**

The staff had indeed put together a 'costume' for me. It was green scrubs, with a surgeon's cap and mask to cover my hair and mouth, and a cloth eye mask in the same colour. I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting, really, but it wasn't that.

I felt gangly and awkward in the thin fabric, and had to fight against my immobile left arm _again_ as I changed, but I wanted to _help_ so badly it almost hurt.

Wait, no, that was my shoulder.

Well, time for Euphoria's debut. I ducked out of the bathroom I'd changed in, leaving m yclothes folded on the counter, my left arm hanging limply at my side. There were no pockets in these clothes to prop it up with.

The nurse was waiting for me outside, smiling at the sight of my 'costume'.

“We're so happy you're willing to help....?”

“Euphoria.”

“Euphoria. That's a good name.” He gestured for me to follow, and I did, limping along at his side. “We're going to have you in the emergency room. After what you did for, uh, the other patient, the doctors thought you'd do the most good there.”

He looked at me, obviously waiting for a response, and I nodded slightly. “I, um, I can definitely clear up stuff like poisoning?” I ventured.

“Excellent!” He grinned wider and pushed open a door. “The staff know you're going to be there. Now, they'll tell you who needs to be seen next, and those people will already have signed consent forms for parahuman treatment, so don't worry about that side of things.”

“Do many people object?”

“You'd be surprised.” He shrugged. “Oh, and here's your ID. Wear it while you're in the hospital, please.”

He handed me a lanyard with a plastic card on it, a simple white rectangle with 'PARAHUMAN MEDICAL VOLUNTEER' printed onto it.

“We had that made up while you were changing,” he continued, as I slipped it over my head. “It's just a placeholder until we get a photo and can have the real card made, but don't lose it. Right, brace yourself. The ER can be chaos at the best of times. Just keep calm and follow the staff's instructions, and everything should be fine.”

The final set of doors opened, and I limped out into the open lobby of the emergency room. It was packed, even this early in the morning, although it didn't surprise me; I knew how many people there were in here subconsciously _thirty-seven_ and what was wrong with some of them.

The second I entered, one of the other nurses grabbed my attention and gestured me over to her. As I approached, she frowned up at me.

“Come on. We've got a bleeder.”

_Ugh._

XxXxX

Ten minutes later I was sat in a separate room, where they'd wheeled all of the patients who had been bleeding. The second I had line of sight to their blood, they lit up from blue to gold in my senses, and I corrected their circulatory systems, un-scabbing any dried blood on them and locking their bloodstreams into the correct pattern. Wounds that had been pumping out blood were suddenly dry and clear, bruises and swellings were smoothed out and wiped away. I felt... powerful, like I could do anything, and I definitely noticed that I could control more than one at a time, if I could see their blood.

And when I say I locked their bloodstreams in place? I mean it. I could pull my attention away afterwards, and so long as they remained in my power's area of perception, the wounds didn't start to bleed again. _That is going to be really useful._

After that, it was kind of boring. It was still early afternoon, and besides the occasional alcohol poisoning case or drug overdose, the rest of the two hours I was volunteering for passed with little to do. Even the drugs and drink were momentary distractions; a single touch and a thought fixed everything I could for those.

I spent the rest of the time fiddling with my own blood, seeing what I could do. I pulled a couple of drops from my still-healing shoulder and made them dance patterns through the air, spinning and splitting and rejoining, stretching into odd shapes and circling the entire room in a second. That wasn't even the fastest I could make it move, which made me wonder why I couldn't fly that fast. _Probably something to do with what my body can stand?_

I stopped breathing for half an hour, just because I could. It was really weird, how I could just push my oxygen levels up to where they needed to be, regardless of intake, but it was definitely helpful.

I was _really_ bored, okay?

**XxXxX**

Finally, the nurse came to take me back to my impromptu changing room.

“How was it?”

I shrugged my right shoulder. “It was a little dull, to be honest.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “That's good. Really! We all wish for dull shifts in the ER.”

“I know, but it's not what I was expecting when I volunteered. I thought I'd be, I don't know, helping people with gunshot wounds or something.”

He looked a little more serious at that. “Yeah, we get a lot of those. Just wait until the evening, or the weekend. You're still in school, right?”

I nodded.

“Then you'll be volunteering in the evenings most of the time anyway. It'll be a hell of a lot busier then.” He looked carefully at me, eyes locked to mine. “But don't downplay what you did today, Euphoria. You helped all of those people, made their recovery so much quicker because we could work on them without worrying about bleeding out, or them dying of an overdose because we just can't fix it in time. We would have lost at least five people in those two hours without your help.”

I stayed silent, shocked. _Really? But I didn't_ do _anything._

**XxXxX**

Dad was happy to see me again once I was changed, and we sat together for another half hour before Auntie Su arrived to collect me.

“Taylor, go home,” Day insisted, laughing as he pushed me towards her. “You need to eat, you need to go over the Arcadia stuff.” He motioned to the papers he'd given me. “And you need to spend some time with your aunts and uncle. I'm still going to be here tomorrow, sweetheart.”

I rolled my eyes, and he ruffled my hair while I was distracted, eliciting another squawk from me.

“Seriously, Dad, stop it!” I fended him off weakly, laughing.

“Go on, go home! Let me have some peace and quiet and get some work done.” He smiled at me, winking.

I sighed, but did as he asked. “Ugh, did you have to get me homework from a school I'm not even attending yet?”

“You can do it, or you can be behind when you actually go.”

“I know, I know. Let me complain.”

I kissed Dad goodbye, and then followed Su out to the car, where Lenny and Bill were waiting.

“You have fun, Tay?” Asked Lenny as I got into the back with her.

“Yeah, I did.” I smiled. “It's good to see Dad recovering so well.”

“Danny's a tough man.” Bill started the car as he spoke. “He'll be better before you know it. How are _you_ feeling, Taylor? I noticed you were favouring your right arm this morning.”

I winced, and then winced at the fact that I'd winced. Su's eyes narrowed as she leaned around her seat to glower at me.

“Young lady, what did you do?”

“Nothing, I swear!” I grabbed the lights in my left arm to make it move. “Look, it's fine!”

Su pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh. “Taylor, dear, we know.”

I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach.

“Know what?” My voice definitely didn't squeak.

“That you're a cape, dear.”

I laughed, an edge of hysteria to the sound. “What are you, I mean, I'm-”

“We are too.” Lenny interjected, laying a hand on mine. “Capes, I mean. All three of us. Have been for years, Tay.”

What.

“What.”

Su smiled. “Oh, yes indeed. We'll fill you in properly once we get back to your house, dear. But more to the point, what did you do to your arm?”

I looked away. “I may have... been shot.”

“Shot?” Su leaned closer. “What were you doi- no, that's not important. Have you had it treated?”

I shook my head, feeling bizarrely guilty. “No. My- I mean, I don't really need to?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose again. “Taylor. You will show me your shoulder when we get back, and I will do what I can. And if I say that you need to get it looked at, then you will go straight back to the hospital and get it looked at, understand?”

I nodded, eyes down. “Yes, Auntie Su.”

She sighed, and patted me on the knee. Not the injured one, thank goodness. “I'm _worried_ about you, Taylor. I know how reckless we all were when we were your age.” She gave Lenny a _look_.

“Yep.” No sign of regret whatsoever. “But I learned from experience. Don't see why Tay can't, too.”

“Because Taylor can't do what you can,” Bill said. “And we're here, ladies. Let's finish the conversation inside.”

There was a brief flurry of movement as we travelled from the car to the kitchen, and the kettle was boiled for four cups of tea.

“So.” Bill sat at the head of the table, sipping his tea. “All three of us have been capes for at least twenty years, now. Your uncle was a cape, too.”

I stayed silent, eyes wide.

“Andy was the cape known as Marquis. We all worked for him.” Bill continued, pushing his glasses up a little. “Your parents didn't know any of this.”

Su spoke next. “Do you remember much about your uncle, dear?”

I closed my eyes, taking a sip of tea to give me time to think. “I don't remember him being... super _anything_. He was kind and spoiled me and Melly, and he and Mom were close. That's about all. I was only six when he died.”

Lenny shook her head. “He didn't die, Tay. Someone took him.”

I felt my heart stop for a moment. “But... the funeral, the fire, I know his house burned down with him and Melly in it!”

Another head shake. “It burned down after. There weren't any bodies there. We know. We spent hours searching. But he was taken, and your cousin was missing. There weren't any bodies, we lied to you.” She bowed her head. “He never wanted any of you to know about him. He wanted the people he loved to have normal lives.”

“Mom was never the same,” I whispered, hands clasped tight around my cup. “You couldn't have _said?_ What, was he a member of the Slaughterhouse Nine or something?!” I was standing now, half shouting.

Su shook her head. “He was the biggest supervillain in Brockton Bay.”

I collapsed back down into my chair. “ _How?_ He was... he was nice! He brought me too many stuffed animals! He loved to sit in the park and have picnics with the family!”

“What would you do to keep your family safe, Taylor?” Asked Bill, leaning forwards, his hands steepled. “Would you fight? Would you do what you _had_ to, to keep the people you loved from harm?”

I felt sick. _Yes. I've already done things I shouldn't to keep Dad safe. How far would I go?_

“Annette lived in this city, and Andy loved his sister. The only people he loved more were you and his daughter.” Bill was quiet, just loud enough that I could hear him. “You know that the Protectorate don't do everything they can. If you walked around at night twelve years ago, you could be sure you'd be safe. If you walk around at night now, the Merchants will try to sell you drugs, the ABB will try to mug you and kill you, and the Empire will kill you for having hair the wrong colour.”

“The only difference between heroes and villains is that villains are _honest_.” Lenny added, leaning back in her chair. “We all protect our own.”

I just sat there, stunned. “So you pretended for all these years...” I whispered. “Why did you come back now, then? Why do you _care_ now?” I was being bitter and cruel and I didn't care.

“Because of you, dear,” Su said. “We do love you. I'm not going to lie and say that we didn't have other reasons. We think we might have tracked down a general location for your cousin. We think she's in the city somewhere.”

“Why would she want to see you?”

“Us? I doubt she'd care, for all that we changed her and fed her and played with her. But family belongs together, Taylor.” Su took my hand gently in hers. “Are you telling me that you wouldn't want to know who she was, where she was? That you don't miss her?”

“I'm not... I'm not saying that,” I whispered. “But what right do we have to tear apart whatever life she has? What if she's happy and healthy and doesn't want more family?”

“If that is the case, we will leave her be. Andy's greatest wish has always been for his daughter's happiness.” Su smiled at me. “And yours. Now, on to slightly less emotionally charged things!”

I half-laughed, half-sobbed. “Yeah, not hard.”

Bill gave me an indulgent grin. “We need to talk about the rules of being a cape. Have you heard about the 'unwritten rules'?”

I shook my head. “If they're unwritten...”

He nodded. “They are not always followed, but it's a good idea to. They prevent a lot of... unpleasantness. They're pretty simple; do not reveal another's secret identity or attack them in it, do not attack unpowered friends or family, and do not kill another cape. There are other things that will get you hunted down, but they tend to be thoroughly illegal and morally reprehensible anyway.”

“And you get... 'hunted down' if you break these rules?” I didn't think I had to really worry about them; my power lent itself to non-lethal applications anyway.

“It depends,” Lenny said. “Over in Chicago, the last one's a lot looser. History of the Mob and all. And if you're justified in breaking them, people might talk, but they won't go after you. The thing is, if you make a habit of breaking them? No-one will trust you. No-one will _help_ you.”

“I don't think I need to worry about those.” I shook my head. “I don't want to kill anyone,” _lies_ “Or expose people. I just... I want to help.”

“Well, why don't we head out tonight so you can see how the professionals do it?” Lenny grinned at me. “We'll go poke the Empire a little, see if we can goad out some capes for you to fight. It's good fun.”

Su rolled her eyes, but was smiling in kind. “What can you do, Taylor? Your uncle could manipulate bone. I'm what they call a 'Brute'; I'm very strong and very hard to hurt.”

“I can control blood.” I paused a moment. “Do powers run in families like that? If Uncle Andy could control bone...”

Lenny and Su looked to Bill, and he nodded. “They do. Relatives who trigger their powers later tend to have powers, ah, thematically linked to their relatives'. I'm a Stranger, by the way. People who are within a certain radius of me see me as their dearest loved one, and have to do what I ask them to.”

I boggled a little at that. “Isn't that, um, incredibly dangerous?”

“Oh, yes.” He grinned. “Beware of Strangers, Taylor. My power's relatively harmless compared to some. There was a member of the Nine who could make you think he was just someone to ignore, even when he was cutting your eyes out.”

“I'm a Shaker.” Lenny interrupted, pushing her forefinger into the wood of the table. Tiny wooden figures rose from it, soldiers and horses, and started fighting a little war. “And a Master, but who cares about the categories? They're dumb. I can make soldiers out of anything I sink into.”

“Wow. My powers seem sort of... lame.”

“Really?” Su raised an eyebrow. “If you're anything like your uncle, then they're much more useful than all of ours combined.”

“I mean, I can fly with them?”

Lenny pumped an arm, then held out a hand for a high five. “Yesss! Best power!”

I laughed and met her hand with my own. “And they did let me save dad. I've only had them for like three days though.”

Bill nodded. “Your powers don't change once you acquire them, but you will get more out of them regardless. It's like any skill; you have to practise and experiment.”

“Which is why we need to go and pick a fight.” Lenny insisted.

**XxXxX**


	7. Interlude 1.b – Miss Militia

**Interlude 1.b – Miss Militia**

Hannah looked up at the bodies with a feeling of rising dread. She thought she recognised this, this method, this pattern, from before. From back ten years ago, before one of the most famous villains in the city had been Birdcaged. This street had been the site of many a murder back then, in much the same way. It was perfect for it – long and straight, lined with street lights and trees. Back then, they'd called it Sinner's Row.

Now, it looked like the name would be coming back. A dozen men hung from the street lights, swinging gently in the breeze with the creak of shifting rope and soft drip of fluid onto tarmac. On a wall, in a large, Gothic font, was written 'SPECTEMOR AGENDO'. It had been scrubbed from the wall long ago, but had once been a fixture – 'Let each be judged by their deeds'. Beneath it was a crown with a dagger through the centre, the letters 'N.O.' on the centre of the crown.

It made no sense. The Marque had dissolved with Marquis' capture, his lieutenants disappearing soon after.

She turned her head at the sound of clicking claws on the tarmac, in time to see a monstrous ink-black wolf barrelling down the street, eyes smouldering an infernal red. On its back were sat two women, both in suits – the one in front wearing a black and silver pinstripe, with a top hat and blank silver mask, the one behind in tweed with a deerstalker hat and a similarly-patterned opera mask.

The massive wolf skidded to a halt outside the police tape, and the two women slid off its back to stand politely at the barrier. The black-suited woman waved cheerfully as the wolf began to shrink and warp, until a small child in a Victorian-era street urchin outfit stood in its place, their skin still the same inky black of the wolf's fur, their eyes still that demonic red glow.

“Greetings, Miss Militia. We heard what was going on over here and decided to come and see if you wanted a hand.” The black-suited woman called in perfect Kurdish.

Hannah shook her head ruefully. The Irregulars always showed up at the strangest times.

“Come on through, Moriarty, Sherlock, Baskerville. We're a little confused on this one – a crime out of its time, so to speak.”

Sherlock - the woman in the tweed suit - strode confidently over to the nearest corpse, and began examining it extremely closely, her face millimetres away from the body as she scanned it head to toe.

The child was low to the ground, sniffing around and moving in seemingly random patterns. Hannah knew that Baskerville could follow a scent trail anywhere, once they found it, if powers weren't involved. Sometimes, even if they were.

Moriarty was studying the graffiti with her head tilted to one side, humming thoughtfully to herself.

“Looks like Noblesse Oblige. This is their tag.” She indicated the lower half of the graffiti, now talking in English, her voice firm and carrying a slight Canadian accent. “But it doesn't match what I have on them. They're very private gang, usually. Public displays of power like this are very out of character. Not to mention out of their city – they're a Great Lakes gang, way out west from here, mostly Chicago.”

Sherlock pulled back from the body, rubbing her chin, then spoke, quickly and excitedly, with a strong posh English accent.

“Odd, this one was approached from the front. The noose was placed around his neck, looped over the crossbar, and then he was lifted to suffocate. But he never put up a struggle. No scratch marks around the neck, no defensive wounds. They weren't Mastered in a way that could be resisted, either, they did this of their own free will, or close enough to fool _me_. Fascinating. Stranger work, no doubt about it. Someone who can have their orders followed perfectly,” she nodded up to the rope. “That was done by someone with a Brute rating, as well. There was no pulley system in place for it, and the man was lifted in a single pull to hang with his feet 1226 millimetres above the ground, one handed. While a strong baseline human could possibly exert that force, this was done by a woman between 1527 and 1534 millimetres in height, with a musculature that wouldn't allow for that. Further, all these men were hanged at the same time. Not one after another, but simultaneously. So there's a Master or Shaker at work too, one who can make something that can exert Brute-rated forces. Oh, and every man hanged here has perpetrated multiple crimes against children and or women.”

Moriarty nodded slowly.

“That matches the leadership of Noblesse Oblige – Attila is a Master that can make soldiers out of anything she touches, Khan is a high-level Brute, and Bluebeard is a nasty Stranger/Master combo. They could definitely have done this, but … ah, of course.” She slapped a fist into her palm. “The Marque had people with similar powers in their ranks – picked most of them up after that clusterfuck with the Teeth and the Empire about fifteen years ago. They've changed their names, but it agrees with my models if I can cross-match them. We're looking at Marquis' old crew, his top enforcers. They moved back here...”

She placed her head in her hands, obviously thinking hard.

“Don't push it, Moriarty. I have a scent to follow, but the Stranger may have cut the trail at some point.” The demonic-looking child said, their voice sweet and innocent and _echoing_.

“No, I have it, I have it. They moved back because they had some news about either Marquis or someone closely linked to him. Run down his civilian identity, and anyone who's linked to it, cross reference with recent incidents – crimes by or against those people, probably. That'll tell us why they've come back.”

Hannah frowned.

“And they've decided to set up in my city again? We need to shut them down before this gets out and they start recruiting. I don't want to break the unwritten rules to do it, though.”

Baskerville smiled up at her, sharp white teeth standing out clearly against their face.

“Want me to track 'em, Militia? Shouldn't take long 'fore I know whether they've lost me or not. If they're as dangerous as Moriarty says, I don't want 'em roaming any more than you do.”

She nodded in response, brows furrowing in a frown.

“I'm coming with you.”

Baskerville shrugged and hunched over, twisting and growing until they were once more an enormous wolf, even bigger than before.

“Hop on.” They said, their voice still the same unnerving childish chorus.

Hannah followed the other two women onto the Changer's back, fingers locking into their fur as she held on tight. The journey was astonishingly smooth, as Baskerville followed the scent trail that the murderers had left down the street.

They banked around a corner, and Hannah had to grip harder as Baskerville sped up, tongue lolling out of their mouth as they broke into a gallop.  
  
“The trail must have cleared up!” Holmes called over her shoulder. “Any idea where this might be heading, Miss Militia? We only came in a couple of years ago. You know this city better than I do.”

Looking around as they raced through the streets faster than any car could manage, Hannah felt a suspicion forming in her mind.

“I have an educated guess.”

Another few streets flashed by, and then Baskerville skidded into a sudden turn. Hannah's suspicions were much clearer now.

“Marquis' old home is where the trail ends, I'm guessing.”

Moriarty leaned around Holmes to look at her. “Seems reasonable. Want to call in backup? I'm not sure we can handle that combination.”

Holmes nodded her agreement. “I may be passable in a fight, but Khan alone would hand us our heads. Well, Moriarty and I. Being very good at deduction just means I'd be able to see exactly how she'd rip me in half.”

Hannah shook her head. “It's just a burned out old shell, now. I can't think anyone would want to _stay_ there, let alone Marquis' old enforcers.”

Moriarty's head twitched a little, and then she spoke again. “You're correct. They'll have left another message, most likely, and then hidden their trail. I just...” She clawed at the air in frustration. “Not enough information. This is _history_ , not present, I'm not...” She growled in pain.

Holmes sighed, eyes flickering across the rapidly-approaching overgrown hedge. The border to Marquis' old estate. “Switch tracks. Any information on Marquis?”

“Shaker/Changer, bone manipulation. That's all I've got.”

Hannah interrupted. “He was captured in his civilian identity. Keep it quiet, because you know what that means, but New Wave felt he was too dangerous to obey the rules for.”

“Not general public knowledge, right, hope the Noblesse Oblige crew don't know.” Moriarty paused, looking up at Holmes.

“Mmm, I'd give the fight to New Wave,” she said, thoughtfully. “Although only if they knew what was happening. Stranger/Master is an awfully dangerous combination, especially if they surprise you.”

Baskerville launched themselves over the hedge, soaring through the air for a few long moments before they landed far too softly on the weed-strewn lawn on the other side. Hannah felt a little queasy, but Colin did far worse with his bike on a regular basis. Especially when she was sat behind him.

They all slid off Baskerville, and the Changer morphed into a normal-sized dog, looking around curiously.

“Abandoned for years.” Holmes noted.

“Except for the trail here.” The dog trotted over to a narrow section of slightly-trampled grass and weeds, leading towards the black husk looming in the middle of the lawn.

Hannah took the lead, one hand suddenly filled with a submachine gun, the other holding her phone to her ear.

“Control, this is Militia. I'm with the Baker Street Irregulars, investigating a lead on the murder display. We're at Marquis' old house. We don't think there'll be any danger, but I'm leaving this call connected.”

“ _Affirmative, Militia.”_ Assault drawled back, obviously bored. _“You want to maybe not run off with strange women in the middle of the night? Not that I can say anything, but, you know, there's this whole 'team' thing we have going on, and that involves more than one person. Armsmaster's going to be even pissier than usual.”_

Hannah didn't bother responding, instead tucking the phone into her front pocket, the gun in her hands shifting into an assault rifle. She walked forwards carefully, gun raised, making sure to keep the house covered. Baskerville crept along next to her, their coal-black body low to the ground.

The house had been big, once upon a time. A veritable mansion, with multiple wings. And now it was little more than a pile of charcoal on concrete foundations. Holmes clicked on a powerful, wide-beam flashlight behind Hannah, playing it over the inside of the building. No-one was there, but a single sentence was painted on the only intact wall left.

'GIVE HER BACK.'

**XxXxX**


	8. 1.6

**1.6**

We'd waited until it got dark, spending the time cooking dinner and drinking tea and, in my case, having my shoulder looked at by Auntie Su. She said it would be fine, but scolded me for my carelessness regardless.

It was now fully night, the moon rising over the horizon, as I trudged towards my makeshift hideout in the old abandoned warehouse. A quick check with my blood sense showed no-one was watching or following me, and I ducked in and floated up to the rotted out office. I quickly changed back into my costume, pausing only to poke a finger through the hole in the shoulder.

_Six inches up and to the right, and I'd be down half my face._

I shuddered a little at that thought, but pushed it aside as I pulled on the ornate peacoat. Once I was back in my costume, I felt some of my worries melt away. I lifted off the roof of the little office, floating out through one of the broken windows and up into the open sky, indulging in a little free flying. I pushed up, higher than I'd been before, until I could feel the ice forming on my eyelashes.

It was quiet, up here. There were no gunshots, no shouts or screams or cars. Only me and the wind, and I was almost silent, my lungs still. I couldn't stay this high for long, as the cold started gnawing its way into me, so I dropped, falling like a stone with a joyous whoop.

I turned in the air until I was nose-down, arms and legs clamped to my body and straight behind me. I arrowed towards the ground almost faster than I could fly, and for one long moment I considered not catching myself.

The moment passed, and I turned the dive into a swoop, describing a long, curving arc through the air as I zoomed just above the rooftops, headed towards our rendezvous point. I could see it ahead of me, a patch of darkness in the otherwise mostly-lit city, where the old trainyard rusted slowly into the ground.

I was the last to arrive; Bill was there, in a set of battered plate armour, covered from head to foot in dull steel. Su stood next to him, layered in bright silk, with a thick-limbed bow across her back, her face covered with more silk cloth, her hair hidden under a cloth-and-metal helmet. Lenny stood on the other side, wearing only a long sleeveless fur tunic, linen leggings, and a fur-rimmed hat, with a snarling demon mask covering her face.

I set down in front of them, not actually touching the ground, but hovering a couple of inches above it.

“So what do I call you all when you're in costume?”

I could see Su's eyes crinkle as she smiled. “I am Khan. He is Bluebeard. She is Atilla.” He pointed to each of them in turn. “What should we call you, dear?”

“Juke.”

“Du-”

“With a J, Atilla.” I cut her off half way through the word.

She laughed. “Well, if you say so, Duke.”

I sighed, rolling my eyes behind the smooth porcelain that covered my upper face. “Where are we headed?”

“We'll head up west, towards the city centre. That's Empire turf,” Su said. “Oh, and I'm afraid you'll have to deal with any women we fight. We all swore not to harm women or children when we signed on with Marquis.”

Lenny nodded, and her feet sank into the ground, then she was rising again as a horse made of dirt rose up beneath her. The process repeated with Su and Bill, and before I could blink all three were mounted.

“Let me know if you can't keep up, Duke.”

I followed them into the city, flying a few dozen feet above their heads. I could indeed keep up; in fact, I could have outpaced them easily. Lenny was laughing as they rode, taking her horse up over cars and even onto the side of buildings, where it galloped horizontally along the walls as though they were flat ground.

It didn't take long, at the pace we were moving, before we started to see the tell-tale signs of Empire activity. The graffiti started to contain swastikas and the number 8, and teenagers with shaved heads and steel-toed boots had to dive out of the way of the stampeding trio on the ground. We circled around a handful of blocks, scaring the hell out of some skinheads.

“Is something supposed to happen?” I yelled down.

“Give it some time, Duke. The little Hitlers take time to organize. Famous efficiency, my ass!” Lenny called back.

I felt someone moving fast enter my perception. Three someones, actually. “Incoming!” I yelled, pointing towards the approaching cluster.

A massive chunk of rock flew into view, with three people stood atop it. Two women, and a man. Dozens of smaller bits of debris floated in lazy orbits around the central platform.

“You want to fuck right off, or am I going to have to squash you?” One shouted. She was standing on the rock, her arms outstretched as she directed the circling debris, her flowing robes flicking up little wisps of dust.

Su peered up at them. “I don't recognise these children. Kaiser too busy licking the Fuhrer's asshole to come himself?”

The man spoke up at that, walking towards the edge of the rock. “Well, we're plenty to deal with a chink like you.”

I pushed his feet. Just a little. He stumbled towards the open air, but the last cape on the rock grabbed him by the back of his black-painted breastplate and tugged him to safety. She brushed off her red bodysuit with a sniff and touched him on the face, and suddenly he threw a gout of fire at Su.

Her horse moved out of the way, legs bending in ways that a horse couldn't move. The robed woman gestured sharply, and the floating debris started to rain down on us, one tagging my already-injured shoulder. Lenny dove off her horse _into_ the street to avoid one that shot straight for her. Suddenly, the tarmac was heaving and roiling, totally black figures clambering out of the surface of the road. I lost track of Bill as I dodged from side to side.

Another gout of flame shot out from the man, this one aimed at me, and I flew down and under, passing beneath the flame and the rock both. I tugged at his arm as I flew, pushing his aim close to one of his companions, and I could hear him swearing as I skimmed the underside of the floating rock. I could only push a few inches? When you move your upper arm a few inches, your wrist goes a lot further.

“Where did they all go?”

“I don't see them.”

“Would you kindly jump off the rock?”

“Viktor!”

There was a whoosh of displaced air as the man fell off the rock, and suddenly there was another set of lights up there. I recognised Bill's voice as he spoke, but his lights disappeared again.

“You want to leave me alone.”

The man rolled as he landed, coming to his feet completely unharmed. I could feel the anger in his blood, and _oh shit he can see me_.

The fire tagged the end of my braid as I darted to the side. I whipped around, one hand sliding through my hair to put out the fire, and he stumbled as I pushed one of his feet. I flew up and around one side of the rock, keeping the floating stone between us. He was too distracted by the approaching tarmac army to attack me again. I could see the dreamy smile on the women's faces as they completely ignored Bill, who was standing there patiently.

“All yours, my dear.”

Of course, they could see _me._ I had to jerk suddenly to the side as the robed girl's hand came up, tearing free a chunk of the rock and propelling it at me. With a thought, I drew some blood from my shoulder, pushing the red-clad woman's ankles at the same time, and aimed for the robed girl. The rock she'd thrown at me came back, smashing into my lower back, and I screamed in pain as I felt something crack. _My hip._ At the same time, my blood streaked across the sky faster than I could follow with my eyes, slapping into her face, and she collapsed without a sound. I pushed up my painkillers in response, feeling my body fill with familiar floaty numbness.

The rock dropped to the tarmac with a thunderous crash, sending a billowing cloud of dust out in all directions. I swooped down as it hit and grabbed Bill, pulling him and the robed girl up and away from the razor-sharp shards of rock that blasted off at random angles as the rock hit the road. Debris rained down all around us. I couldn't hold them up for long, but it was enough, and I dropped them onto the pavement a few dozen feet from the impact site.

There was a huge pile of rubble in the middle of the road, now, surrounded by a cloud of dust. I could see dark figures moving through it as they hunted for the remaining two capes, but I could sense that they'd retreated into an alley. I flew up and over the rooftops, following them, and I could feel Su jump up to the roof next to me to match my pace. It took a handful of seconds to catch them, Su dropping off the roof like it was a single step down, cracking the concrete as she landed. She started to stalk towards them, her bow out and an arrow nocked. The arrow looked like it was made of inch-thick metal, and the limbs and string on the bow were thick enough to match.

I floated silently down behind them, and pressed my hand to the woman's face while they were distracted, sending her into painless unconsciousness. The man – Viktor? - stiffened as he felt her go limp against him, and he span to throw more fire at me, but I'd predicted that. I was already flying up as fast as I could, using the fire escape as cover, and the flames splashed against the rusty metal with a dull roar.

Su was using his distraction to sprint forwards, her massive strength meaning she covered the distance faster than any sprinter could, and she reached out with an almost gentle push, sending Viktor flying in a straight line until he crashed into a dumpster, twenty feet away. The lid slowly creaked down, slamming shut on the unconscious man.

Su dusted off her hands. “They were a lot tougher ten years ago.”

I shoved her to the side just as a semi-transparent spear buried itself where she'd been standing.

“Were we.”

The speaker was a man in metal armour, held aloft by what looked like a ghostly copy of himself, and next to him was a completely white man in red clothes held up by another ghostly figure.

“Alabaster, take care of these two while I deal with the others.”

The white man nodded, and the figure carrying him let go, dropping him a good fifty feet to the hard concrete. He collided with the snap of breaking bone, but before I could do more than gape, he was stood there, completely fine and grinning viciously.

Su cracked her knuckles. “Ooh, fun. I can stop holding back, can I?” She didn't even look when he jumped at her, backhanding him so hard his arm flew off in a spray of blood. “I'll see about dealing with him. Go help Bluebeard.”

I nodded, flying off as the suddenly-better man jumped at Su again, this time to be grabbed out of the air and slammed into the ground. I was carrying my last 'tag' with me, a drop of my blood on her to let me puppet her with my complete control, and if you didn't know better, you'd think she was still awake.

I could feel the flying man ahead, darting about erratically in the sky for some reason. As I approached, I could finally see what was happening. Lenny's tarmac soldiers had started throwing rocks, broken glass, and each other at him, and he was having to jink and weave to avoid injury. I could see Bill just leaning against a wall, watching, and I couldn't see Lenny at all, though I could feel her swimming lazily through the street.

“I'll catch you eventually!” The flying man bellowed, as a pair of his ghosts started to dismantle the constructs, their unreal spears causing damage, but the bitumen fists passing harmlessly through them. “No-one escapes Crusader! No-one!”

I rolled my eyes. _Villains_. Bill waved up at me, then pointed at the flying man and shrugged.

I threw the red-clad woman at Crusader, piloting her through the air with a fist extended. He moved out of the way, so I kept attacking, her feet and fists slamming into the air that he'd just vacated.

“Othala, you're being Mastered!” He yelled, driving a straight kick into her gut. It didn't really hurt her, as I pulled her back while he kicked, and he wasn't actually trying to hurt her in the first place, just to get some distance.

I hovered over the street next to Bill, leaning against the wall beside him as I fought the neo-Nazi with his own colleague.

“Are all fights this boring? When I went after the Merchants last night, they had one cape, and he nearly beat me.”

Spinning elbow into an axe kick, while Crusader tried his best not to hurt his associate.

Bill shrugged. “They were ill-suited to fighting us. The two girls might have been dangerous if they'd had the chance to do more, but they were on the back foot from the start. If it had been Hookwolf, or worse, Purity? You'd have fallen almost immediately. You can't fight what you can't effect, Duke. Like Attila, you'd have a hard time fighting her.”

Othala's fists bounced off Crusader's breastplate, and I pulled the blows just before they hit. No point hurting the poor woman, even if she was a Nazi.

“ _This_ guy's pretty dangerous.”

Bill waggled his hand from side to side. “I suppose so. But he's not going to be very tough. Just a normal human, in that regard, much like you or I. It's why he's wearing the armour, see?”

Crusader had Othala in a headlock, trying to choke her out, but she rolled up and booted him in the head with both feet.

“And the guy S- Khan's fighting is invulnerable or something. He keeps getting better immediately.”

Bill scoffed. “Khan will deal with him.”

I'd moved Othala above Crusader, and she was hanging upside down, raining punches down on him.

“Do you have a time limit on that?”

I shook my head. “I have a drop of my blood on her. I can control her as long as that's there. I don't want to transfer it to Crusader, either; if I do, she'll fall.”

I'd managed to get behind Crusader with her now, her arms wrapped around his waist.

“You're really bad at this fighting thing, Duke.”

“I started _yesterday_. I don't see you helping, Bluebeard.”

Crusader was done trying not to hurt Othala now, and his carrying-ghost jabbed a spear at her. I landed her safely on the pavement, then floated up to his level, my arms folded.

“You bitch!” He snarled, all of his ghosts converging on me. “I'll make you pa-”

He fell limp, a drop of my blood pressed to the corner of his eye, and his ghosts faded away. _Okay, I may like the drama a little myself. I can't help it!_ I descended slowly, lowering him with me, aware that there were dozens of people watching who'd just seen me do that.

“So, uh...”

I looked up at Bill as Lenny rose slowly out of the tarmac, as though there was a platform under her feet pushing her out. Her tarmac soldiers did the opposite, sinking back until the only sign we'd been there was the broken rock blocking the road.

“What do we do now?”

Lenny clapped me on the shoulder, and I bit down a scream as she pressed into my gunshot wound and jolted my hips. “Now we party!”

Su emerged from the alley, dragging Alabaster behind her. He'd been almost totally cocooned in metal, trash cans squashed flat and bent around him. With her other hand, she pulled the dumpster she'd dropped Viktor into earlier.

“No, Attila.” She said, flipping the lid open and dumping the writhing Alabaster in with his fellow Nazi. “We clean up, then we celebrate. Don't want to leave all this trash,” She gestured to the collapsed Empire members. “Lying around in the streets, do we?”

**XxXxX**


	9. Interlude 1.c - Annette and Andy

**Interlude 1.c - Annette and Andy**

Janet's twins lay on the sofa in a Gordian knot of pale, tangled limbs and long dark hair. Each of them was holding a book and reading with no sign of discomfort, despite the fact that Annette's head was upside down relative to her book, and Andrew seemed to have been bent in half somewhere.

She sighed briefly, smiling at the sight. Even though they were eight already, they were still as close as ever. Sometimes, she wondered if they were one soul in two bodies.

**XxXxX**

Okay. She'd be taking that back now that they're fourteen.

“You should stay at home and learn how to be a good mother!” Andrew yelled, stood on one end of the sofa.

“YOU should GROW UP and stop acting like a SEXIST PIG!” Annette yelled back, stood on the other end.

“University's no place for a girl!”

Annette spear-tackled her brother off the end of the sofa, and Janet buried her head in her hands with a sigh. They were going to make her go grey before she was forty, she knew it.

**XxXxX**

“Why do you want to go to Brockton Bay for university, Anne?” Andy was leaning against his sister, their backs together as their feet dangled off the ends of the sofa.

“They have the best course for what I want to do with my life, Andy.” She replied. Their dark hair looked like it was a single entity, spilling over both of them.

“I'm moving to Brockton too, then.” He announced, his hand on hers. “I know it's backwards of me, Anne, but I want to make sure you're safe.”

She shook her head. “Andy, I love you, but I can take care of myself. I don't need you scaring off potential boyfriends, either.”

He huffed out an angry breath. “It's a pit, Anne. Full of murderers and rapists and drug-dealers.”

She elbowed him in the side. “And what are you going to do against that? Join the police?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, his young face solemn. “Maybe I will.”

**XxXxX**

“You are _so_ drunk.”

“No, you're so drunk, Andy.” She decanted him into her car, wincing as the midday sun lanced into her eyes. “Why?”

“I love you, Anne.” He mumbled, his head tilted back against the chair.

“I know that, dumbass. Why are you drunk?”

“Why are _you_ drunk?”

She rested her forehead on the steering wheel, then looked at her brother, still a pale, slender teen like she was.

  
“You failed?”

He nodded miserably. “Apparently,” he slurred, one hand raised. “ _Apparently,_ they don't want a cop who actually _cares_ about crime. I aced all the tests. All of them. Fuckin' psych evaluation.”

“Can't you-”

“Nope. Permananananantly disbarred from bein' a policeman.” He fumbled his belt into place. “What the fuck even _is_ borderline personality disorder?”

“It's what you have?” Annette ventured, looking concerned.

“Well, fuck them. I know I'm right. Right?” He looked at her, eyes wide.

“Andy, let me just... let me drive you home. Come on.”

There was a knock at her window, and she smiled at her friend stood outside. She wound her window down.

“This guy bothering you, Anne?” The other young woman asked.

“Only my entire life, Cass. He's my little brother.”

“Only by ONE MINUTE!” Andy leaned across, holding up two fingers. “She's hol- held that over me our whole life. Lifes?”

Annette elbowed him back into his seat, ignoring his grumbling complaints. “I'm just gonna drive him home, pour him into his bed, and leave him a glass of water. I'll be at the meeting, don't worry.”

**XxXxX**

“Hey, Marquis.”

“Stop talking, Bill.” He snapped, hands pressing down hard onto the deep puncture wound on Bill's gut.

“Marquis,” Everything went static for a moment, his hands slipping as he collapsed.

“Get off me.”

He did. “Annette, when did you-”

“What are you talking about?” She said, clutching her bleeding stomach.

“Why are you injured?”

“You saw the Empire fucks stab me, Marquis.”

“No, I saw them stab... Bill...” He shook his head, ignoring the stabbing pain. “Trigger. Bill, turn it off.”

There was a twist as the world changed, and Annette was Bill again. “Powers.”

“Looks like you'll need a mask. Also, you're still bleeding to death.”

**XxXxX**

“Nice to meet you, I'm Danny.”

Andy narrowed his eyes, resisting the urge to drive a bone spike through the other man, and shook his hand carefully. Just enough force to show he was stronger.

“I'm Andrew, but you knew that already.” His grin was only just visible.

Annette punched him in the side, scowling. “Be nice, Andy. He's my fiancé.”

“I am being nice!” He protested, half-heartedly.

“You're doing your alpha-male thing. Stop it. It doesn't make you seem tough, it makes you look constipated.”

He looked the skinny man in front of him up and down, not impressed. “You couldn't have done better? We're, like, supermodels, Anne. You could have any guy you wanted, and you pick him?”

She punched him again, and he retreated, hands up in surrender. “I love him. That should be more than enough, you ass. This is why I didn't let you meet him before.”

“I'm just-”

“I know you think you're looking out for me, Andy-”

_She couldn't know how true that was, how many times he'd followed her when it was dark, to make sure she stayed safe, how many bodies he'd made because they'd looked at the only person he ever cared about wrong-_

“-but I can take care of myself.”

_The gangsters torn to pieces by their own skeletons._

“I know, I know. I just want to make sure you've thought it through.”

_The early mornings spent stitching up bullet holes._

“We've been together for two years now, Andy. We really do love each other.”

_The days spent building his budding empire._

“We do.” Danny nodded, smiling goofily, his eyes still only on Annette.

 _I'd use your spine for a hat rack_.

“And I want you to give me away at the wedding.”

_I'd... what?_

“I thought you didn't believe in that sort of thing, Anne?”

She smiled up at him, that grin that knew every inch of his rotten little brain. “But you do. It doesn't hurt me to make you happy, Andy. It was Danny's idea, actually.”

Another look at the man. Still tall, skinny and not good enough. But better. “Huh. I'd love to, Anne. It... I don't need to say how much it means.” He grabbed her in a fierce hug.

**XxXxX**

He rocked the red-faced, screaming baby, cooing gently to it as he tried to calm his niece down.

“Come on, Taylor, I promised Anne she'd get five minutes to herself.” He sing-songed, trying to get her to stop crying.

_That's it. I'm taking her out for a walk._

He left Anne and Danny's house, the squalling child still in his arms, and walked up and down the street for a while, making funny faces, singing, anything to try and _shut it up_.

Then he moved several streets over, still rocking and cooing and _good grief._ A few more streets, and he was over the border, crossing from Marque turf to Empire. He hardly noticed, because Taylor was _still_ screaming.

Well. At least she had a good set of lungs. He wasn't sure if she'd stopped to _breathe_ yet.

“Did you burp her?”

He turned. The speaker was a young woman with a shaved head, a cigarette hanging from her lower lip.

“What?”

She had a swastika tattooed on her bare shoulder.

“Yeah, burping her? I've got a nephew coming so I read up on what to do.”

“How do you do that, then?”

_Fucking hellfire, taking advice from an Empire member!_

“Rest her on your shoulder and pat her back.”

He did so, and then winced as he felt warm sick spill over his back.

“Oops. Yeah, should have warned you.”

“... it's in my _hair._ ”

She laughed, a scratchy, raucous sound.

“Stop prissing about it. It'll wash out.” She extended a hand. “Eleanor Anders.”

He shook it, just relieved that Taylor had stopped crying. “Andrew Lavere.”

**XxXxX**

“They killed him, and all Kaiser's doing is _letting it go_!” Volk snarled, her fingers phased into her steel mask. Little figures half-formed and sank back into the material, the entire surface writhing with activity.

“Run that by me again,” Marquis said, steepling his hands in front of his bone-masked face. “The Teeth killed your nephew and your sister-in-law.”

“Yes.”

He waved a hand, a single, fluid gesture, and the men and women standing around in his little concrete court left, with a few nervous backwards glances. Bill hovered by the door, but a look from Marquis quelled whatever protest he might have had, and he departed too.

Besides, it wasn't like Volk could harm him.

“And you came to me why? I don't care about your little Nazi party.”

“Because I don't want to be a slave to my _prick_ of a brother any more. Especially when he doesn't do anything about the _important_ things.” She shook her head, and Marquis could hear her teeth grinding together. “I've always toed the line like a good little girl, but I've always hated working for those assholes. 'get married and have lots of little Aryan babies, Eleanor', 'do what you're told, Eleanor', 'don't care about your baby nephew being _murdered_ , Eleanor'.”

Her mask clattered to the ground, revealing a tired young woman with defeated eyes.

“I'm done. I'm done!” She stamped on the mask, over and over. “Fuck Kaiser, fuck the Allfather! Fuck the fucking Empire! I _like_ different cultures! I _like_ being nice to people I don't know! I don't give a _fuck_ what colour your skin is!”

“I must say, you seem a little angry there.” Marquis drawled, leaning back in his chair, arms casually to his sides.

“Fuck yes I'm angry!” She leaned over the table towards him, eyes wide. “I want to go and kill every last member of the Teeth! I want to bury them alive!”

Marquis let a slim smile slip onto his face. “You look better without the mask, Miss Anders.”

She stiffened. “I don't know you.”

The bone mask he exuded from his own skull sank away to reveal his face. “You helped me with a screaming baby a few months ago. That's enough for me to hear you out. And you know how I feel about people who harm women and children.”

She nodded, pulling herself back together. “I'm out of the Empire. For good.” She pulled out a knife and put the point to her shoulder, but Andy reached over the table to stop her.

“Cover it with something beautiful. Something in opposition.” He said softly. “Don't replace one defacement with another.”

“You'll help me?”

“I will. So long as you swear in, like all the others.”

**XxXxX**

“So, uh, I have this problem...”

“Spit it out, Andy.” Annette was curt. He sighed, adjusting the phone under his chin.

“I... may have got some poor girl pregnant.”

Silence.

“Um, the kid's about the same age as Taylor.”

More silence.

“No-one you know, I'm sure. Thing is, uh, well...”

He looked down at the squalling infant in his arms.

“She left the kid with me. Help?”

**XxXxX**

The short figure scowled up at him, lower face hidden behind a plain white mask with sharp teeth painted onto it.

“I said, do you want to hire me?” She repeated.

“Well, what can you do?”

“I fight.”

He rolled his eyes. “Certainly. What are your powers?”

Her hand wrapped around the corner of the nearest building, and she squeezed. The bricks exploded in a shower of red dust.

“Any previous affiliations?”

She shrugged. “Teeth. But you killed most of those assholes. Means you're worth following.”

He sighed. “Legion won't be happy about this. If you can convince her, you're in.”

“I didn't kill that kid,” she replied softly. “I didn't even know they'd done that. It's sick.”

“Tell Legion that. And be ready to give up all the madness of your previous affiliation. We're a civilised group, and we have rules.”

She nodded sharply. “Good.”

**XxXxX**

Marquis looked up at the speaker with a completely blank face.

“What-”

The synthesised voice spoke again, and he thought he could hear real pity in it.

“I'm sorry, Marquis. Your sister died last night, in a car accident.”

He didn't say anything, but he could feel the world drop out from under his feet.

“I've managed to get authorisation for you to watch the funeral, if you wish.”

He took a deep breath, in, then out.

“Yes.” His voice was distant, empty. “Please let me know when. You know where to find me. Thank you, Dragon. This is a kindness I never expected.”

“You're welcome, Marquis. I truly am sorry.”

He shook his head, the long, greying curls bobbing slightly across his vision. “You can't understand it, Dragon. I am dead. My daughter, then my sister, taken from me.”

He turned on his heel and walked out of the small cell, bone flowing up and across his skin until he was completely encased in armour. There were still animals left in the Cage. Men who were here because society was too weak to put them down.

Someone was talking, laughing. He silenced them with a single needle of bone as he passed, which erupted into a fractal nightmare once it pierced their skin, tearing them to pieces.

Before, he'd let them live. Because, in some part of his heart, he held out hope that he would escape and see his sister again. That he would find who had taken his daughter and turn them inside out. But his sister was dead. His daughter was so lost, he had no way of finding her.

He felt fire splash against his armour, distantly. A half-thought ended that threat, a dozen javelins of bone launching themselves from his armour, each one exploding into ivory sea-urchins once they hit.

And now, he had no reason not to hunt them.

**End Interlude**

**End Arc 1**


	10. 2.1

**Arc 2: Anaemia**

**2.1**

I fell asleep almost immediately upon getting back to the house. Between the exertion, the pain of my injuries, and the excitement, I was completely wrung out. I still slept on the sofa, though. I couldn't bear to face my room again yet. I didn't sleep well; there was no comfortable middle state between the pain and the swimming head from the painkillers. The next morning, after a quick breakfast where I demolished another three plates of food, I headed out into town.

I loved my aunts and uncle, but that didn't mean I trusted them. They'd admitted they were villains, and the way Su treated Alabaster – even if he did get better – had me really concerned. Most people wouldn't rip a man's arm off and laugh about it.

So I kind of went behind their backs. I didn't want to use the computer in the house for my research, not when it meant that Lenny or Su could wander in at any time and see what I was doing, so I went to the library again.

The bus ride into town was painful, every bump and jostle making my shoulder ache more, and my hip send stabbing pains up my spine, but I dealt with it. Mostly by adjusting the painkillers in my blood up until it didn't hurt any more. I knew it was a terrible idea, but honestly? I was sick of suffering.

I noticed that people were giving me strange looks as I leaned against the window, and a glance in it myself showed why. I looked terrible. There were dark bags under my eyes, my skin was even paler than it had been before, and the livid scars across my face were even more noticeable. I knew they were there, but seeing them still made me wince a little inside. Even my hair, usually bushy and full of life, hung limp and singed around my shoulders. At least my broken nose wasn't visible; no bruising, after all.

I couldn't walk under my own power at the moment. I took hold of my lights, taking the pressure off my legs and hips, and walked myself along a hairsbreadth above the floor. I got off the bus with my head hanging, the sight of my own face putting me in a worse mood. This early in the morning, the library was practically empty, so I didn't have to wait for a computer, just 'sitting' down in front of the nearest one. The first name I looked up was Marquis. I wanted to know exactly how bad this 'biggest supervillain in Brockton Bay' was.

I felt sick. Murder, drug dealing, racketeering... the only things he hadn't had his fingers in were prostitution and slavery. I just... I couldn't reconcile that with Uncle Andy in my head. My memories of him were all warm smiles and laughter, of him giving me rides on his shoulders as he ran around the park, of him reading to me. It just didn't gel.

There were no real details around his arrest. Just articles from ten years ago mentioning that he'd been apprehended. Whoever had taken him in, they hadn't wanted the publicity, because none of the information I'd found mentioned the arresting cape. None of them mentioned a daughter, either. Not that I'd expected them to, but my cousin should have come to us. To her only living relatives. Not have been stolen away by someone who only knew her as the daughter of a supervillain.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts, and typed in the next name – Khan.

No, not Star Trek. Ugh, there had to be a good dozen capes with Khan in their names, and none of them had anything positive said about them. But the news article from yesterday morning was what made me stop and shudder.

_'Twelve Dead in Terror Attack'_

The details made me shake in my seat. Twelve people, murdered by the group Noblesse Oblige. The group that consisted of Bluebeard, Attila, and Khan. The group that was my aunts and uncle.

The group that I'd enjoyed being out with, last night, fighting other capes.

The group that I _trusted_.

I had to clap a hand over my mouth to hold down my breakfast. I could feel it, rising up my throat in protest. I couldn't breathe properly.

_They were in the same house with me. I slept in the same house as those people._

I couldn't go back home. Not after that. Not now that I knew who they were. _What_ they were. Everything we'd ever done together, every kind word they'd ever spoken to me; it was tainted, now. Spoiled.

I shuddered and sobbed and wrapped my working arm tight around myself, squeezing my ribs until they ached.

_Enough feeling sorry for yourself._

I swallowed thickly, and forced myself to finish researching my... the three adults living in my house.

Khan was the leader of the group. She just appeared in Chicago about ten years ago. Attila had a long history; her powers were unique enough that when she showed up under a different name, people could still figure it out. She'd been Legion, when she worked under Marquis, and before that, Volk as a member of the Empire.

That short circuited me for a moment. Lenny, the woman with a passage from the Quran tattooed on one shoulder, who lived with a black man and a Chinese woman, had been part of the Empire? It was nearly as disconcerting as the fact she was a serial killer.

Bluebeard was another mystery; Strangers always were.

Their record in Chicago was... terrifying. Not because of what crimes they were directly linked to, but because of how much just happened in silence and was never brought up. It was the same methodology used by Marquis; make problems disappear, and have no-one the wiser until, say, the police showed up at a house to arrest someone and the place hadn't been lived in for months.

I shook my head, closing down the browser. I needed to get some food, and take some time to think about all of this. I didn't have any money with me, but I knew where lots was.

**XxXxX**

It was a little harder to sneak into my impromptu hideout during the day, simply because there were more people out and wandering around the docks area, but it still wasn't _difficult_. I squeezed through the little opening, my power showing me that it was still empty of human life inside, and floated up to my stash of money and my costume.

Ugh. I'd need to wash it, soon. It was starting to smell of sweat and dust, and there were patches where dirt from my fights had ground into it. Was this thing washing machine safe?

_Concentrate._

I pulled out a handful of bills from one of the trash bags, counting out the money. There were a shocking number of hundreds, but it was mostly tens and twenties. I allowed myself a thousand dollars, because fuck it, why not? I was craving calories, and I wanted to pick up some more things for my hero-ing.

And I was going to be a hero, family and friends be damned. Because I was _never_ going to be like my uncle. I was never going to murder people because they looked at me wrong, or because they _got in the way._

I wedged the roll of bills into an inner pocket, well out of sight, and dropped back down to the floor, limping out into the city again.

**XxXxX**

My first purchase was a cell phone. I knew my Dad hated them, ever since Mom died. I wasn't too fond of them either, but I had to have one, for safety if nothing else. I didn't want to accidentally knock someone off a ledge and have them die because I couldn't call the ambulance.

Or, you know, have the same thing happen to me.

It was a plain model, pay-as-you-go, and I quickly made sure to turn off all the sound settings. No ringtones, thank you very much, especially not when I'm trying to sneak up on some gangster. I didn't think my scrap with the Merchants would have gone anywhere near so well if a phone had gone off before I took care of even the first guy.

Next I picked up a sturdy, thick backpack. Good for carrying things, and it mean my next purchases could be hidden. I followed it with a bulletproof vest, and the clerk managed to up-sell me a ceramic trauma plate. Hey, I'd already been shot. I didn't need to get my lungs perforated. I wasn't sure if I needed them any more, but it would still _hurt_.

The last thing was a bigger first-aid kit. If I kept getting injured at the rate I had been, I was going to need to be able to patch myself up. It made my backpack bulge oddly, but I squeezed it in there.

Now I could eat.

I headed for the only place that seemed appropriate, Fugly Bob's. I'd always seen the burger challenge there and wondered. Could _anyone_ actually manage that much food? Eight pounds of burger, with bacon and cheese and onion and pickles, and a veritable ocean of fries and onion rings. Not to mention the coleslaw or the double-thick seventy-two ounce milkshake.

Strangely, the idea made me feel hungrier, not queasy like it had before. And frankly, I needed something to do to keep me from stressing out over the fact that I had three murderous supervillains living in my house.

I pushed open the doors, waiting patiently in line until the cashier took my order.

“One Fugly Bob Challenge.”

The young man eyed me suspiciously. “You have enough to cover it when you can't finish?”

I rolled my eyes, but showed him the forty dollars.

“Well, don't blame me when you're out of pocket.” He shrugged, and waved over a waiter.

I was led to... well. It was a throne. A tacky, plastic throne, with a single-person table set in front of it. The words 'BURGER CHALLENGER' were written on a sign hanging above it, but frankly the only thing I cared about was that it let me pretend to sit down.

It took a while for my meal to arrive, and I was starting to regret it. Not the volume of food, but that I could have been eating by now if I'd ordered something different. I was pulled from that thought by the arrival of the burger, something bigger than my head.

I felt my mouth fill with saliva and swallowed. They placed the burger on the table, and before they could say anything I started eating, tearing through it with zeal. _Mmm. Food._ Finally, about three-quarters of the way through the burger, the hungry haze lifted, and I could see people stood around staring at me.

I gave a nervous wave, but kept going. It wouldn't be enough.

I slurped down the last of the milkshake, looking up at the clock as I did so. Ten minutes. That's how long that took me.

I was still hungry, even though my stomach felt like it was about to explode.

I looked mournfully at the empty plate, the only sign it had been used a couple of congealing grease puddles. I had to fight off the urge to lick them from the plate.

I stood from my seat and left the restaurant, following my nose. Something smelt good. Something smelt _really good._ I picked up my pace, a brisk 'walk' leading me to the source. It was a kid, crying on the ground with a scraped knee, but I couldn't see that.

I could only see the blood beading on his skin.

I wanted it.

I _needed_ it.

I jerked back, suddenly snapping out of it. I'd been about to pull all of the blood out of him, pull it into me. Eyes wide, I turned away and started to run, away from the temptation. I ignored the tantalising scents that came to me as I passed people who must have been hiding injuries under their clothes, thinking.

_A butcher. That might help._

I knew where one was. We could never afford to buy meat from a butcher, but there was one on the Boardwalk. I had a direction now, and I slowed my run to a jog, then to a walk as my knee and hip protested the protracted abuse. I may have taken the weight off them, but they still had to _move_ while I faked walking.

It wasn't far, and I could still ignore the scent – the smell that _wasn't_ a smell, it was a pull on my blood-senses, no more an odour than the lights were linked to vision. I shuddered a little at the idea. My power had turned me into some sort of vampire.

_Maybe it's linked to how you change your blood? There's no such thing as a free lunch. Energy cannot be created, etcetera._

Whatever the cause, I had to find a way to deal with it. I went into the butcher's, and started to salivate again as the smell of blood hit me like a solid wall.

The man behind the counter was middle-aged, dark hair going grey at the temples, and he was dressed in a clean white apron.

“Can I help you, Miss?”

I paused. This was going to be weird. “Do you sell, uh, blood?”

He looked a little bemused, but nodded. “Sure. Not much call for it, but I can get hold of some for you. Making some blood sausage or something?”

I nodded back. “Yep.” I gave him a brittle grin. “How much does it cost?”

“Well, I've got a couple of pints frozen. Pig's blood. A couple of bucks will do, I hardly ever sell any. Let me know if you need more and I can order it in.”

I knew he had some. I could taste it in the freezer, and it was setting my hunger off. Looked like it would do.

“I'll give you a call?” I managed, eyes half closed in anticipation. “I think I'll want more.”

He pulled the bag of frozen blood out and put it into a carrier bag, a little smiling pig emblazoned on the side. I paid him, and then I was out of the shop.

I ducked down an alley, following my senses to somewhere I wouldn't be seen. I couldn't wait. I couldn't wait any longer.

I seized control of the blood, my power tickling at it to unfreeze it, and I tore a hole so I could get it out. I pulled it, a streamer of bright red slipping out of the bag towards me.

I didn't want to drink it. There was no need, it would be inefficient, and it wouldn't work. It flowed through my clothes, towards my injured shoulder, and pushed into my own bloodstream, integrating perfectly. No antibody response. No sign that anything was wrong. Just an abatement to the hunger, the edge to it fading back down to that gnawing presence sat at the base of my mind.

I realised I'd collapsed at some point. I was lying in a heap on the alleyway floor, shivering with a mixture of disgust and satisfaction. It was like I'd just had my first drink of water after three days. Like I'd just eaten for the first time in a week. It almost hurt, how good it felt. I'd been _missing_ something, ever since I developed my powers, and this was it.

I needed blood. It didn't matter what kind; animal, human, my power didn't care. Just that I took it.

I curled into a ball and started to cry.

**XxXxX**

I wasn't sure how long I sat there, in that dirty alley, sobbing into my knees. I was broken from my pity-party my my watch alarm beeping, and I looked a tit with bleary, confused eyes. Why had I set an alarm for-

_Fuck, Mira's class!_

I was going to be late. I went from crouched to sprint in about half a second, flooding my system with adrenaline and painkillers so that I could move freely. The bus stop wasn't too far, and I ignored the strange looks I was getting. My foot tapped impatiently, the adrenaline slowing everything down.

_Oh, that could be useful._

A thought for later. I was at the door before the bus stopped, and I took off again, going at...

_I can run as long as I like. No need to breathe, and I can just remove the lactic acid._

I pelted around the corner and through the door into the gym, slowing to a walk as I approached the entrance to the hall that Mira was using for her lesson. I heard her voice as I got nearer the door, and I poked my head around nervously.

She saw me, and waved me in, not stopping in her talk, although her eyes flickered over me, taking in...

I looked down. My clothes were trashed, covered in grime and sweat and grease. There was a tear in the elbow of my hoodie from where I'd collapsed in the alley. I looked like I'd been sleeping in a trash can.

Not too far off the mark.

I joined the line of other young women, pushing my tangled and dirty hair out of my face with my right arm. Now that I was here, I dialled my blood back down to- _Fucking ow, nope._ Not quite normal. Down to a sensible level of pain relief, though. My shoulder throbbed, and my left arm still hung limp. My hip kept protesting, until I pushed the painkillers up further.

Mira had finished her talk, and was demonstrating something now. I followed as best I could.

**XxXxX**

The lesson had been exhausting and embarrassing. I was even less mobile than I had been during the first one, my arm and hip and knee meaning I could hardly do anything. At least it was over, for now.

“Taylor,” Mira was standing in front of me, looking worried. “Are you alright? You look like, well.” She shrugged. “Like you've been in a fight.”

“I'm, I'm fine.” I tried to wave her off, but everything was swimmy and out of focus.

“At least wash up before you go. I have some spare clothes you can use.” She took my right hand gently in hers and started to lead me off towards the office in the back.

“You don't- I mean, I'm-”

“You look like someone kicked you half to death in an alley.” Her voice was still soft, but there was that undertone of solid steel I recognised. “You'll get cleaned up, and then we will talk.”

The shower was bliss, the hot water washing away all the filth I'd accumulated over the course of the day. The clean, warm clothes, even if they swamped me, were just as welcome.

_They must be Conn's._

I hadn't seen him, but I could hear training in the main hall, so I assumed he was teaching the advanced class some more. Mira was sat in the office, a teapot on the desk and an empty chair next to her.

“Come sit down, Taylor.” She patted the empty chair. I did so. “Now, I thought things were better for you, recently? After the incident, you weren't going back to Winslow, correct?”

I nodded. “Yeah. But, the same night I was here last-” I sipped my tea, hiding my tears in the steam. “Someone attacked me in my room.” I set the cup down so I could grab my left elbow with my hand, hugging myself tight. “I fought them off, but it all just got worse. Now Dad's in hospital.”

Mira sipped her own tea, studying me. “And today?”

I shook my head, wet curls slapping my face. “I just- I-” I slumped back in the chair. “I was crying in an alley. I was out and it all just got too much.”

She smiled sadly. “I've been there. There's nothing to be ashamed of, Taylor.” Mira took another drink of her tea. “I found that meditating helps. It puts things in perspective, lets you keep your head when everything starts to go wrong.”

“Why do you _care_?” I blurted out.

“I care about all of my students.” She set down the mug. “Especially young women who don't love themselves. Life's shitty enough without you hating yourself on top of it. I learned _that_ one the hard way.”

I quirked my head. I wasn't sure I believed her.

“Look.” She held out one arm, palm up. I looked down at it, seeing the thick silver scar across her wrist, in sharp contrast to her caramel skin. “Did that when I was fourteen. Did the other wrist when I was twenty. Decided if that wouldn't work, I'd kill myself by putting myself in the most dangerous job around. Joined the PRT.” She laughed, genuine amusement in her voice. “It all seems so silly and petty, looking back. But when you're in that moment, nothing else exists.”

I nodded. I knew how that felt.

“And just because it seems silly and petty now, or from the outside? Doesn't _make_ it that.” She picked her tea back up. “And it never goes away. You fight it every day, with friends and family and whatever medicine works. You do stupid, dangerous shit because it makes you feel like you're a real, living person for five minutes. You learn how to tell when you're down there, when you can still see the light at the top of the well. When you can climb out yourself, and when you need a rope lowered for you.”

I couldn't take my eyes from hers, intense and green as they kept my gaze.

“Different things work for different people. For me, it's meditation and exercise and my family. And the odd jaunt to get shot at. You've got it in you to be something, Taylor. What that is? It's all up to you. But I want to help where I can. I teach self defence. Sometimes, the person you need protecting from is _you_.”

There was a long, pregnant pause while we both sipped our tea.

“Your lesson let me escape,” I finally said.

“From the attacker in your house?”

“Yeah. She didn't expect me to fight back.”

Mira smiled viciously. “Good. I'm glad it helped.”

“Me too.” I gave a brittle laugh. “I thought she was going to kill me.”

“You get used to that.” Mira's smile was wistful, now. “Not that you _have_ to, mind. But if you get in more fights? It stops being so scary.”

“It couldn't really get _more_ scary.” I shuddered, hands bunching into fists in my over-long sleeves.

“I don't doubt it. I find it comforting to remember that the only fight you win is one you don't participate in.”

_I know that feeling. No matter how well I've done, there's always been a price._

“Why is _that_ comforting?”

“Well, when you remember that the other bastard's hurting just as much as you are, it makes things much more bearable.” She chuckled, eyes a little distant.

I sipped my tea again, looking for a way out of this conversation. “So, uh, meditation?”

Mira nodded. “It's surprisingly easy.”

**XxXxX**


	11. Interlude 2.a - Coil

**Interlude 2.a – Coil**

He leaned back in his chair, examining the reports of last night's fight with the Empire Eighty-Eight. His pawn, alongside some capes he didn't know much about, had wrecked a street, taken down five Empire capes, and then just left.

No message was being sent, that he could tell. Nothing more than 'We exist'.

While that was powerful enough, in the right hands, it seemed too arbitrary to be deliberate. If he'd wanted to send a message to the Empire, for example, he'd have targeted the capes that actually mattered to the organisation – Hookwolf, or perhaps Kaiser himself. To be frank, the five that had been defeated were little more than gutter trash, scraped up to bulk out the ranks. They wouldn't stand a chance against his mercenaries, let alone a trained, powerful parahuman.

And his pawn was turning out to be worth the minor investment, oh yes. A powerful and versatile ability, and a weak mind? The perfect combination.

He'd tested her with the Merchants, sending her against the lowest of the low. She'd dealt with them admirably, although it sounded like she'd had a little trouble with the cape she'd faced. No matter, the house was neutralised, and his Undersiders could expand their territory.

It was sooner than he'd expected; he'd been planning to keep them as a free-roaming group for another few months, but he killed more than one bird with this stone. He got to test out his new toy, get rid of some of his opposition, expand his territory, and appease some of his other pets.

The only problem was that other parties were making their plays. The arrival of Noblesse Oblige was slightly concerning, and something he hadn't planned for. He'd deal with them if they became a problem, but for now it looked like the Empire would do his work for him.

That was why status quo was king; you could never tell exactly what was going to happen when you shook things up. And he intended to shake much harder before he was done.

His Tattletale had sent him a text – _'She's much harder to read now that she flies. I think she's Mastering her own body. No involuntary motion when she's flying. I saw the fight with Mush; she has Striker requirements to her Master power, but she can get around them by using her own blood as a conduit.'_ And then a phone number.

His little shadow sent him another, this simply a picture.

That was another bright side to this little side-project of his; he got his hands on Shadow Stalker. The girl was insane, but in a controllable way. He had her sneaking into places after his pawn had left, taking pictures he could use later. She hated it, but she hated his pawn more.

She was still useful, for the moment. Once she stopped being so? Well, there were plenty of people who'd pay a pretty sum for her. He'd have to get rid of her soon enough, either way. She was too unstable to keep near.

He tapped out a quick message to his pawn, sending it to the phone number his Tattletale provided. The ABB were due a visit from his newest toy, and he was planning on using the Undersiders to harry them soon anyway. This would certainly provide a useful new angle.

Idly, he span off a side-reality, where the message instructed his new pet to meet some of his mercenaries for a strike. They lasted approximately ten seconds before she had them tell her where he was.

He blanched under his suit as he saw the result of that. Things...

No.

No, he wasn't going to meet Miss Hebert in person if he could help it.

**Interlude 2.a End**

**XxXxX**


	12. 2.2

**2.2**

I scowled down at my phone.

_Miss Hebert,_

_I was impressed by last night's fight. Perhaps you'd like the opportunity to be a hero again, instead of associating with such notorious villains?_

_There's an ABB casino in the docks. Attached is a map of its location, as well as further incentive. I'd recommend calling the police again, because word is starting to spread that you're a rogue at best. Some people are already hailing you as the new leader of Noblesse Oblige, 'Duke'._

_Your Most Ardent Admirer._

There were two pictures attached; one a map to the casino, the other a very recent photograph of my Dad, asleep in his hospital bed.

I clenched my empty fist, fully aware that I'd break the phone if I squeezed it as hard as I wanted, and gritted my teeth. I'd just left Mira's impromptu meditation lesson, and I was glad that I'd read that message while I was still calm. Otherwise, I'd have thrown the phone at the nearest wall and stomped it to dust.

That wouldn't have been very helpful.

As it was, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. _Fine. I can do this._ It wasn't horrifically far to the nearest bus stop, and once I got on the bus it should only take me another fifteen minutes or so to get to my lair.

I was going to have to increase the security on it if I kept using it like this. I may have been the only one to ever use the condemned old warehouse, but that didn't mean I'd _remain_ the only one. All it would take was some homeless person crawling in to get shelter from the elements, and it would be useless.

I sighed and got moving. As I walked, I called Auntie Su, typing the number in from the card she'd given me with their contact numbers.

“Su Rawlins speaking.”

“Hey, Auntie Su.” I was proud that I kept my voice from cracking, that I held back the disgust I felt at talking to her. “Something's come up. I'm going to be back pretty late, maybe not until tomorrow morning.”

I could hear her switch to speakerphone. “Is this something we can help with?”

I shook my head, despite the fact she couldn't see me. “No, it's fine. Just going to help a friend out. You know how it is.”

She hummed disapprovingly. “If you say so, dear. Stay safe.”

“I will.” I hung up before she could say anything more.

I felt sick. Everything hurt, all my injuries throbbing with that insistent agony of broken bone and torn flesh. I'd only made them worse by ignoring them for so long, for abusing my body the way I had.

_Fuck it._

I pulled the hood on my oversized hoodie over my head, and lifted the neckline so it covered my mouth and nose. No-one was watching, my power informed me, so I shot into the air and arrowed off towards my base.

_This is a lot faster than some bus._

It only took me ten minutes to get there. I was pretty sure I could move faster than a car, if I pushed it, and covering a city doesn't take anywhere near as long when you're ignoring roads.

I darted into my hideout through the broken window I always used, my power letting me know it was still clear, and I landed on the rotted-out office. At least I'd brought my backpack with me this time.

I changed into my costume, slipping the bulletproof vest on under my pea coat. Huh. It filled me out so that the coat fit me like a glove, now; whoever had made it was expecting me to wear something like this underneath. That was... discomfiting.

My hair was back in its braid, although it was noticeably shorter and slightly singed, now, and my mask slipped on over my face like an old friend. I rearranged my pack so that the first aid kit was easily accessible, tucked my borrowed clothes away into a secure spot, and pocketed a few more dollars. I could always use more money, even if the bag was starting to look deflated.

_I guess money takes up a lot of volume, if you just throw it in there._

I hissed out in pain as the backpack came to rest against my lower back again, jolting my hip. Then it was back into the sky. At least this place was going to be closer than the Merchants. The map on my phone was tiny and pixellated, but I could make out where I was headed easily enough. I flew slowly this time, just cruising along above the rooftops.

It occurred to me that I probably looked really odd when I flew. I didn't assume the 'typical cape flying' pose, of one hand on the hip and the other stretched out in front, one leg pulled up. I just moved along like I was standing on one of those moving floors at an airport. Or any position I liked, I supposed, but this was the simplest.

I'd played about last night when I dove from the sky, and even then I'd just sort of aligned myself so that everything made sense from where I was flying. People are built to work best when their heads are upright, and that was the most comfortable way to fly.

I thought about that, not because I was bored or thoughtful, but because there were a lot of people on the evening streets below me, looking up as I floated along. I was a good fifty feet off the ground, but white pants stand out in the dark, especially when the golden thread embroidered into them reflects the streetlights.

I flew up a little higher, getting out of sight. I didn't want the ABB to know I was coming. I'd been shot once too many times for my lifetime, thank you very much. Even at my sedate pace, it only took another fifteen minutes to get there.

I spent the time playing with my blood and thinking. Was there any point to a repeat of the Merchants situation? No. I didn't need to be in the building. I didn't even need to _see_ the building. I could navigate my blood by the lights of others. Hell, I could stand in the air a hundred feet up and still not have a problem dealing with the casino.

_How much blood can someone lose before they suffer ill effects?_

It was a morbid thought, but one my power immediately supplied me with an answer to. I... didn't mind the idea of stealing a little blood from the gangsters. A pint apiece would quickly add up.

And I was still hungry.

I could store as much as I could take, I realised. And it would all... _become_ mine. Better to take it from people who didn't help the world, than to lose control and drain some poor child.

Hell, I could donate blood, perfect blood, blood that wouldn't fight against the recipient's immune system, blood free of disease and rot. I could convert blood from useless to useful.

_That's something to ask the hospital about. I can clean blood for them. And... Yes, all it needs is a drop. One drop of my blood to convert however much._

I was justifying it to myself, I knew. Trying to make excuses for the decision I'd already made.

The truth was, I didn't care enough about the people I was going to target _not_ to do it.

Did that make me a bad person?

I shook myself from my thoughts, now floating high above the target building. I dropped slowly, my awareness sliding down through the building until I could feel every person in it.

I pulled out my phone, and dialled 911.

“Hi there, I'd like to report a parahuman arrest of the patrons of an ABB casino?”

A few drops of blood beaded on my skin, wriggling through the epithelial layer painlessly. They darted down, towards the casino.

“Yes, I'm the parahuman responsible. Juke. No, with a J.”

They pressed against the outer walls, circling the warehouse in instants, easily finding a way in. The first people began to fall, and as each one dropped I pulled out precisely as much blood as they could afford to lose. It flowed out through their skin, slipping out of capillaries close to the surface. It was painless, harmless. The second it touched my blood, it _became_ my blood. Then they were moved into a sitting position, so there wouldn't be issues with things like breathing.

“Of course I can hold while you transfer me to the PRT hotline.”

Half the people inside were down now, and I had globs of golden blood flying back up towards me as the little droplets kept up their assault.

“I don't think there are any parahumans inside, no. And... yep. All of them are unconscious.”

The last few drops came back to me, sinking back through my skin after the rest of the stolen blood. I was feeling chipper and almost sated, now. I knew I'd never be able to get quite enough, but this should keep me going for a while.

“I can wait here, sure. I'd like to talk about joining the Wards, anyway.”

I slipped slowly down through the air, coming to a halt at the edge of the roof. I sat there, feet dangling over the edge, and waited. Sixty people down in as many seconds, my blood moving in a sweeping circle to cull them from the outside in.

They didn't stand a chance.

Actually, I should look inside, just to make sure there weren't any candles about to burn the place down or anything. I floated in through one of the open windows, and gave the cavernous room a once-over. There were trays of spilled drinks, cards spread across the floor, and the roulette wheel was still spinning.

I absently reached over and stopped it, then moved further into the room, eyes fixed on the scene in front of me.

The outermost people had fallen without warning, randomly spaced towards the exterior of the building. As more and more dropped, they'd clustered together in the centre of the room, and there was a big pile of unconscious bodies there.

It was like something out of a horror movie; dozens of people, just lying there unresponsive, open eyes staring blankly. The only way you could tell they were alive was their breathing, and the constant, steady drum of their heartbeats. I was frozen in place, eyes wide and breathing rapidly.

I'd done this. All these people- I pushed up certain drugs in my bloodstream, feeling my worries wash away into a happy smile. I'd taken care of all of these criminals, made sure that they were apprehended without harm. This was the best thing that could happen to them.

Any other hero might have had to hurt them to get them to stop.

The only problem was that pile in the middle of the room. That wouldn't do. Someone could get hurt in the press of bodies.

I pulled a droplet of blood back out, and started to lay everyone out in careful rows. It didn't take long; just a handful of minutes. I examined them as I moved them, letting the process mostly run itself. There were a lot of people, but only a few were in ABB colours.

It made sense. You didn't want to rip off your own guys; it was better, and more profitable, to take money from the dissolute rich.

I felt the lights of the response team enter my field of awareness at around the same time I heard the sirens, so I flew back out to greet them.

_Oh, god, that guy's so weird!_

One of the parahumans they'd sent had some fucked up biology. His bloodstream was more adrenaline than haemoglobin, and his circulatory system fed double the normal number of organs. I couldn't tell where the others- wait, no, I could. That little patch in the brain, that concentration of capillaries. I should have picked it up sooner.

I blamed a small sample size, plus intense stress.

There was one other parahuman, riding in the same van as the first. He felt like a normal teenage boy, save for his brain.

I waved as the trucks came into view. I was floating a dozen feet off the ground, trying to look harmless, but the excitement and nervousness flooding the PRT troopers who piled out of the vans made me think I'd failed.

The weird boy, the one with the fucked up blood, flew out of the van and hovered across from me. He was built like a brick wall, all solid muscle under that tight rust-red suit. _Mmm. No, focus._

“Hi there. I'm Aegis. Juke, right?” He smiled, white teeth against olive skin.

“That's me!” I was feeling cheerful, with my hunger abated and my system filled with painkillers and joy. “How can I help?”

“Well, uh...” He scratched the back of his neck. “I have to ask you a few questions. Standard procedure. You're not hostile, right?”

“Nope. I want to help.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “That's good.” The troopers below all relaxed a little. They'd never drawn their weapons, but there had been the _possibility_ in the air, before.

“So, uh, I wanted to join the Wards?”

He looked back to me. “We can talk about that. Do you mind landing? Gallant can't fly, and I'm sure he'd like to talk too.”

“No problem.” I sank down to the ground, not quite landing. My knee was still tender from all the running, and I didn't want to aggravate it. “I'm going to have to hover, sorry. Busted my... everything the other day.”

He'd dropped at the same time as I had, but was standing on his own two feet. “It shouldn't be a problem.” A young man in armour came up beside him with the soft whine of motorised servos. “Juke, this is Gallant. Gallant, Juke.”

“Charmed,” he said. I could tell he was lying.

“So, you're pretty new to the hero thing, right?” Aegis gestured to the casino.

“I just, uh, started recently. Did... did I do something wrong?” I scrunched in on myself a little.

Aegis smiled apologetically. “Well, heroes have to follow the law. You can't just arrest someone because you think they're doing something wrong, you know?”

“Oh.” _Stupid, you should have thought of that._ “Am I in trouble?”

“No, don't worry. Everyone who starts off alone thinks they can be the next Alexandria, right? Clean up crime all by themselves.” He shrugged. “If you were a Ward, you'd be in trouble, but you've not had the training or anything. They tend to let little mistakes like this slide.”

Gallant laughed. “Oh, we all goof starting out. This is really mild. We're just glad you want to join the Wards, after you were spotted last night.”

I shook my head. “I didn't know who they were. What they were.” I still felt sick. “I looked them up today.”

Aegis nodded. “Yeah, they're bad news. Good work against the Empire, though. You thrashed their capes. _They're_ fair game, not that we get much of a chance to go up against them.”

“I didn't really do anything.”

He snorted. “I've seen the videos, Juke. You're pretty scary, you know that?”

“I'm really not.”

“Well, the way you're just ignoring that bullet wound...”

I blushed under my mask, self-conscious. “You can see that?”

“It's, uh, it's a big hole in your shoulder. We can see right through to the muscle. Doesn't that, ah, hurt?”

I shrugged with my right shoulder. “Yes. But I'm fine. Really.”

Gallant shrugged. “Either way, we'd love for you to come in to have a talk about becoming a Ward. I like your costume, by the way. Is that Parian's work?”

I looked down, thinking back to the first note. “Yes. Can I fly back with you, or do I need to be in the van?”

Aegis grinned and lifted off again. “I dunno. Think you can keep up?”

Gallant groaned and put his head in his hands with a clank. “Aegis, don't make a scene.”

I followed the flying Ward into the sky, grinning myself. Not that anyone could see, under the gold cloth around my face.

“I won't. I'm just... expediting my return to base with a potential asset. Yeah. Pretty sure that's in the rulebook.”

I rotated slowly, my head as the axis. “Are we going anywhere, or just admiring the view?”

Aegis took off, not bothering to reply, and I chased after him, laughing.

**XxXxX**


	13. 2.1.P

**2.1.P**

I hate myself. Most of the time, it simmers just below the surface, hidden under the veneer of your friendly parahuman healer.

But make no mistakes. I'm a horrible person. I'm a monster, wearing human skin like a shroud. I lust after my own sister. I want people to stop bothering me, to just go away and _die_ so I don't have to _help_ them any more.

I never slept properly. Not after I'd figured myself out. I rubbed my eyes with a soft groan and turned to look at the clock. _1.37 am. Fuck._ I rolled out of bed, making sure to stay quiet so I wouldn't wake anyone, and grabbed some clothes out of the closet; just a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, really. I changed in silence, then slipped out of the door.

I had too much practise at this.

My sneakers padded on the concrete pavement as I walked, wandering aimlessly into the city. It was cold and dark and the clouds overhead threatened rain, but I didn't really care. Anyone who tried to rob me took one look at my face and thought better; no-one wanted Panacea to say _no_ when they asked her to heal a loved one.

Even at this time in the morning, there were people out on the streets. Drunken party-goers, stumbling back home or on to another bar. Prostitutes. Gangsters. Businessmen on the way to the late bus.

I lit up a cigarette, enjoying the little thrill of _sin_ that the action evoked. Mom – as if I could call her that – would kill me if she found out. Just like all my other dirty secrets. Except this one didn't make me want to save her the trouble.

They'd never _told_ me that I was adopted. They didn't need to; I'm not a fucking _idiot._ I look nothing like any of the members of 'my' family. They were all blonde and tanned, tall and built like Vikings. Cheerleaders and quarterbacks. I was pale, with dark curls, and, although I had the height, I was built like a stick. An anorexic stick.

Not like Vicky.

_If I told you you had a wonderful body, would you hold it against me?_

I felt sick, and took another drag on my cigarette, huffing out a cloud of carcinogens into the night air. I had a nice little colony of bacteria in my lungs, dealing with any of the negative effects of my bad habit. That was another thing I wasn't proud of; using my powers for such a petty, selfish little thing.

_I wish I'd killed that baby._

One fuck up. One was all it would take, and the requests would trail off. Certain cures? People would kill for them. Uncertain? Well, there were other options. Ones that didn't involve creepy superhumans putting their dirty hands on you.

I very carefully didn't think about where I'd like to put my hands, distracting myself with my cigarette again. I thought back to all the opportunities I'd had to fuck up my record since the New Year.

_That old lady with liver cancer, that man with a bullet in his heart..._

There were dozens. The only patient I'd had that I didn't feel like I'd wasted my time on...

 _She was so pale, against those sheets. Blind and maimed and helpless. I'd_ volunteered _for her. No-one should have to live like that, and she wasn't going to die if I didn't help. How fucked up is that? I helped her because she_ wasn't _going to die. I hope she got better powers than I did._

I didn't even remember her name. Not that I'd need to; she'd hardly be able to hide in a crowd, now.

I came to a stop, looking up.

My hands started to shake, uncontrollably. Just a little tremor, but I couldn't stop it.

I could feel the bile in my stomach fighting to escape.

Why was I _here_ , of all places?

_Fucking hospitals._

I dropped the butt of my cigarette and ground it out under my heel.

Why did all the other capes love their jobs? Were they all hiding the same self-loathing I was?

Or was I just such a monster I couldn't find joy in helping people?

I walked into the hospital anyway.

**XxXxX**


	14. 2.3

**2.3**

We got to the PRT headquarters in record time. I flew just behind Aegis. Mostly because I wasn't entirely certain which way we were going, and only partially because he had a nice ass. I let him beat me there by a hairsbreadth, coming to a stop hovering just above the pavement just an instant after he landed.

“Sorry, Juke, no active powers allowed inside for unaffiliated capes.”

I sighed, but landed, letting out a hiss of pain as my knee protested, then my shoulder, then having to swallow a scream as my hips took my weight and I nearly collapsed, falling against Aegis as I lost control of my legs.

“I'll call the medic, just-”

“It's fine. I can manage,” I gasped. I pumped up the painkillers in my blood again, letting the cotton wool wipe away the pain, and pushed off him. He looked concerned, but let me go.

“If you're sure. Come on in, then,” he said, gesturing for me to follow.

He pushed open the door – and held it for me, like a polite young man should – _stop channelling Su_. Inside were a battery of scanners, which thankfully didn't set off any alarms when I hobbled through.

We passed the receptionist with a nod from Aegis, and a happy wave from me, and moved deeper into the building. It didn't take long to get to a conference room.

He'd obviously called ahead at some point, because we were met inside by a figure I immediately recognised. Between the American flag wrapped around her lower face and her military fatigues, no-one could fail to spot Miss Militia.

Her hands only held folders for the moment, but I knew she could fill them with guns faster than I could blink.

I saw the corners of her eyes crinkle as she smiled.

“Juke, I assume?”

I nodded, limping to a stop. “That's me!”

“Please, take a seat.” She gestured at the vast selection of chairs, and waited for me to fumble my way into one. “Now, before we start, I'll tell you that everything in this room is in strictest confidence, unless it is something that breaks the law or poses a risk to your life or the lives of others.”

I nodded.

“You can unmask if you would like, but it isn't required.”

“I'd... rather not, at the moment.” I crossed my right arm across my ribs.

“That's fine. So, we'll start with what _we_ know. You first appeared two nights ago, and attacked a Merchant drug house. You fought the cape known as Mush, and disabled him. You also disabled seven unpowered humans. Does that sound right?”

I thought back. “It all seems so long ago. I've had a lot going on, recently. But yeah, I remember fighting the powder guy.” I shuddered a little at the memory. “He nearly beat me.”

Miss Milita made a note, and Aegis looked surprised. “From his statement, and the condition the other Merchants were in, we assume you have some kind of Striker or Blaster power that lets you knock people out?”

I stayed silent.

“Okay, not a problem. Last night, you entered Empire Eighty Eight territory with the villains Khan, Attila and Bluebeard, know collectively as Noblesse Oblige.”

“I didn't know who they were at the time.”

Another note. “It's fine, Juke. You didn't commit any real crimes with them, beyond the usual for a cape fight.”

“The usual?”

“Property damage, mostly. Continuing on, you roamed the streets inside Empire territory for at least fifteen minutes, during which time nothing happened. We assume that the Empire was mobilising their capes to form a suitable response to the intrusion. Rune, Othala and Viktor confronted you.”  
  
“Rune? Oh, the girl in the robes. I didn't get her name.”

“Yes, video footage shows you taking her out of the fight early. Your, ah, _allies_ seemed to be content to watch, for the most part, although Bluebeard Mastered Viktor into throwing himself off Rune's platform.”

“They said something about not being able to fight women or children?” I wasn't really sure why they'd said that; it seemed arbitrary, considering all the terrible things they'd done. “It didn't do much good, anyway. He landed without getting hurt.”

Miss Militia nodded. “We didn't get clear footage of what happened after the platform fell. We know that someone knocked out Viktor and Othala.”

“Khan dealt with Viktor, and I took down Othala. It was kind of unfair.”

She shook her head. “Fair isn't something I'd worry about, Juke. Winning a fight is more important.”

“The only fight you win is one you aren't in,” I murmured, remembering Mira's advice.

“Exactly. While you were fighting the initial Empire response, they dispatched reinforcements. Alabaster and Crusader.”

“They arrived right as Khan took out Viktor. Uh, Alabaster was the one who reset back to normal, right?”

“Yes. We know that he was captured by Khan, and that...” She shrugged. “Well, we estimate that you Mastered Othala and used her to fight Crusader. We don't know how you gave her flight.”

I shook my head. “I didn't exactly...” _I did. I made her do exactly what I wanted. Oh, god, what if I did that to someone who was awake?_ ”Is that enough? Can we stop?” I felt sick.

“Well, we assume you're responsible for Crusader, too?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to open my mouth.

“Five Empire capes defeated in a single fight, three of them thanks to you. I have to tell you that Kaiser's already got a price on your head.”

“What!?”

“Dead or hired. I'm sorry.”

I choked back something between a snarl and a sob. “I'd never work for him. And he couldn't make me.”

Miss Militia's gaze was sympathetic. “I'm telling you this because you need to know. I'd avoid Empire territory unless you're with a group. We think that Noblesse Oblige were assessing you for a place in their organization, too. I don't want to find you strung up from a lamp post like those men the other day.”

I clutched my ribs harder. “I didn't know they'd done that,” I whispered.

“It isn't your fault, Juke. Even if you'd known, could you have beaten them?”

I grit my teeth. “No.” _And not just because you love- loved them. Love them. Fuck, I don't know._

“We don't expect children to fight our battles for us. I'll deal with them, sooner or later.” Miss Militia's eyes were fierce as she caught my gaze. “Remember that. You aren't obligated to fight or die for us. That's _our_ job.”

I shivered a little at that. “Do you need to ask me anything else?” I wanted to leave.

“Only one more thing. We found something when we investigated the trail they left from their crime scene. Does this mean anything to you?”

She opened her folder to a photo, of the words 'GIVE HER BACK' painted on a fire-ruined wall. I swallowed hard, tears forming in my eyes as I realised where the picture had been taken.

_Do I dare to tell them? They'd help find her. They'd be better for her than Su and the others._

“Yes,” I whispered. “They said something about looking for their old boss' daughter.”

Miss Militia was visibly shocked. “Thank you. That- that's something to look into. I think that's all from me. Do you have any questions?”

“Do I have to tell you everything? If I want to join?”

She sighed, and leaned forwards, resting her elbows on the table. “I'm afraid so. We need to know all of your powers so that you can be an effective member of the team.”

“It's just-” I made an aborted shrug. “From the outside it's kinda gross? And I'm pretty sure you'll be able to tell who I am, if you know.”

“You're obviously not sure about this.” Aegis spoke for the first time. “Do you have someone you can trust to discuss this with? I'd recommend a family member. You'll need them to sign a release to allow you to work with us, anyway.”

I bowed my head, guilt pooling in my stomach. “I can't put Dad through that right now,” I whispered.

Miss Militia let out another soft sigh. “It's fine, Juke. We get a lot of kids from bad situations coming through here.”

“It's not that.” I tightened my grip on my ribs. “He's not- He's not a problem. Don't say that. It's everything _else_ that's a problem.”

Aegis' blood felt nervous.

“I'm not going to attack you.” I forced myself to unclench, to sit up a little. “You don't know anything about me, it's not a problem if you make flawed assumptions. Look, is there- Is there some sort of guidebook or something? So that I can help out even if I'm not a Ward?”

Miss Militia slid a thick softcover manual across the table to me. “That's the basics. We won't object if you want to join the Wards when they're on patrol, but you'd have to follow their lead. And no more vigilante attacks on _suspected_ criminals. You can stop crimes you see in progress, that's fine, but remember that you're not judge and jury. We have police for a reason. Don't be another Glory Girl.” She rolled her eyes at that.

“This is all so much more complicated than I thought.” _What's wrong with Glory Girl?_

Aegis snorted out a laugh. “Try being Wards leader. Look, you're new, you're trying out your powers, you want to help. That's _great_. We _need_ more capes like you. So long as you keep to the straight and narrow, you'll be welcome in the Wards any time.”

I nodded. _That might be harder than I like._

“Take the forms with you. Think it over. Try and decide quickly though.” Miss Militia handed me another sheaf of papers as I stood. “While you're here, how about meeting the rest of the Wards we have on-site? Clockblocker and Vista are in, and it'll be good for all of them to know what you look like if you'll be helping out occasionally.”

“Kid Win's in the lab, so I don't want to bother him, and you met Gallant earlier.”

 _Huh._ “What about Shadow Stalker?”

Aegis looked uncomfortable, and Miss Militia spoke up instead. “She's been transferred. Personality conflicts.”

“You can say that again,” muttered Aegis.

I shrugged my right shoulder. “I guess I'm not going to be headed up to meet them?”

He gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Security, you know how it is.”

I nodded. “Where are we going, then?”

“We'll meet them in the cafeteria. Nice and open, no worries about anything going wrong. Uh, you don't mind if I eat, do you?”

I shook my head. “I can tell you're hungry. Your weird biology must burn a lot of calories.” I raised my hand, suddenly aware of what I'd said. “I mean, not that there's anything _wrong_ with your biology! You have very nice biology!” My voice was cracking again.

I was blushing under my mask, I was sure of it. I was just glad they couldn't see me.

He just laughed again, shaking his head. “It's fine, Juke. I've heard worse. So you can sense biology?”

We walked as we talked, out of the conference room and down the corridor. “Sorry. I- I'm not good with- I've not talked to many people, recently.”

“You know about trigger events?”

That came out of nowhere. I shook my head, confused.

“I'm going somewhere with this, I promise. Trigger events are what happen when you gain your powers. They're usually due to something incredibly traumatic.”

_Blood and filth and writhing maggots and they're in me they're IN ME_

I swallowed hard.

“Yeah. It's fine if you're, you know, a little out of it. No-one expects you to be, ah, quite right? Is that the best way to put it? I'm trying to be-” He waved his hands vaguely. “Polite? Not the right word. Sensitive, yeah. What I'm _trying_ to say is that I'm surprised by how well you're holding up. You must have triggered recently, and you're practically normal.”

“Do they give lessons on digging holes here, or is it a natural talent?”

He chuckled. “Oh, it's all me, I'm afraid. I'm sorry. Really. I was trying to give you perspective. Did I reach bedrock yet?”

I felt my mouth curl up a little into the ghost of a smile. “I've heard worse. I go to- I _went_ to school with worse. Thank goodness that's over.”

“You graduated?” He looked up at me. “I can see the height, but-”

“No, I'm fifteen.” That was safe enough to admit. “I'm, uh, well...” I shook my head. “It's not important. Anyway, as long as you're less annoying than a guy I know from... a... school?”

“You don't have to give details. This isn't some secret 'spy on Juke' operation.”

I sighed. “I want- I'd love to join you guys. I want to be a Ward. But I- there's just so much I need to deal with first.”

“Hey, we all have our problems. Talking of which, _Clock, stop freezing your soda in mid-air! We're trying to make a good impression!_ ”

Ah. So that was Clockblocker and Vista. Clockblocker was in a white suit, with white armour panels and a blank white helmet, clock faces all over his costume, while Vista was in a white-and-green dress over green pants, with matching body armour and a visor. She looked vaguely familiar.

“Hey.” Clockblocker waved lazily, obviously paying attention to the mouthful of soda suspended in front of him, like someone had paused a movie.

“Is Gallant back yet?” Vista asked, looking between me and Aegis. “Who's this?”

“I'm Juke.”

“You're a _girl?_ ” Clockblocker screeched, suddenly distracted from his soda. “Fuck, I owe Kid Win twenty bucks.”

Vista smacked him in the shoulder. “Language.”

“And betting's illegal, Clock. You know better.”

I could _hear_ him rolling his eyes. “Yeah, fine. Alright, Glorious Leader. Are we getting a new team member?”

Aegis looked at me.

“I'm thinking about it,” I muttered.

“You totally should.” Vista was smiling, walking around the table to greet me properly. “We need another girl. I love you guys, don't get me wrong-”

I could _swear_ Clockblocker was mouthing something behind her back. His lights moved the right way for it.

“-but it's kinda lonely being the only girl. And no, Shadow Stalker never counted.”

“I've got, ah, stuff that needs... resolving, first.”

The soda unfroze, and Clockblocker's finger darted up to halt it again.

“ _Anyway_ , I'm Vista.” She held out a hand, and I shook, ignoring the fact that I now had control of her lights. “And the guy who's trying too hard is Clockblocker.”

“Nice to meet you both.” Clockblocker waved again, his attention drawn back to his frozen soda. I leaned closer to Vista. “Does he do that a lot?”

“Yes.” All three of them responded.

“Um, Miss Militia said that it was alright for me to help you out if I saw you patrolling?”

“Sounds like a plan. What can you do?” Vista was smiling up at me like I was some sort of shiny new toy.

“Um, I can fly?” I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted to tell them. “And, uh, I can knock people out by touching them.”

“And you can Master people,” Clockblocker added. He was still looking at the soda.

“...yeah.”

Vista reached out and managed to smack him in the back of the head from where she was standing. Since she was a good ten feet from him, I was impressed.

“Sorry about Clock. He's an ass.” She smiled at me.

“No, it's fine,” I murmured. “I can. I just... I never thought about it like that before. About what I could do if I wasn't trying to be a hero.”

Aegis shook his head with a rueful smile. “So long as we're on the same side, I'm not turning down that sort of advantage. Look, I know Miss Militia was giving you the hard sell, but the truth is that people who can Master humans are _scary_. If you joined up, it would make everyone breathe a lot easier.”

I hunched my shoulders, ducking my head. “I said I'd think about it. It- it was nice to meet all of you. Do you mind if I leave now? I've had a _very_ long day.”

Vista's face fell, but Aegis nodded. “I'll show you out.”

I hobbled to the entrance, following the Wards leader as he held open doors for me. I felt like an invalid, when I couldn't use my powers. Not to mention the horrible pain. I could have done my 'walking' trick, but I didn't want to break the trust they had extended to me; they'd let me into the building, despite my known powers.

I wasn't going to throw that back in their faces for the sake of a little pain. Besides, I was sort of getting used to it.

“Hey. Take this.” Aegis was holding out a card.

“What is it?”

“Contact numbers for us, so you can find us when we're on patrol. I hope to see you out there soon, Juke.” His smile was easy and practised, but I could tell he meant it.

“Th-Thanks. This-” I was smiling wide enough to make my cheeks hurt. “This means a lot.”

“See you around, Juke. Take care of yourself.”

I waved goodbye to Aegis as I lifted off the pavement and flew off. He waved back, and then I was gone, vanishing into the dark night sky.

I flew back to my 'hideout', and settled down on the top of the office. I changed out of my costume, then I got myself as comfortable as I could, resting my head on the folded outfit.

I couldn't go home.

I couldn't sleep in the same house as those people. Not any more.

I didn't sleep very well that night. I wondered if I ever would again.

**XxXxX**


	15. Interlude 2.b - Miss Militia

**Interlude 2.b – Miss Militia**

Juke was _terrifying_. The poor girl had no idea how much trouble she was in, and if Hannah had her way, she'd never have to. The meeting they'd had a few days ago had just cemented that desire.

She'd managed to stall Piggot and Armsmaster from ordering Juke arrested for the incident with Noblesse Oblige, but she only had two weeks' grace. She had to bring the girl in willingly, or the PRT would slap handcuffs on her and recruit her by force.

That or send her to the Birdcage. Hannah shuddered at the thought. Sending a teenager there, no matter their power, would never sit right with her.

Other matters were pressing for her attention too; she'd been saddled with the Noblesse Oblige investigation. Which was why she was currently out on the streets, marching through what had been Empire territory until last week.

They moved fast, she'd give them that. It helped that there were still people in the city who remembered the Marque fondly. There were no shortage of young men and women who wanted to make the city a better place, and who wanted a way out of poverty or oppression.

Noblesse Oblige offered that. They'd even made a thread on Parahumans Online, declaring their intent to retake the city and asking for new members to contact them. It was _insane_ , because who would ever believe such a thing?

But people had. Brockton Bay was desperate, bowed down under the yoke of the Empire and Lung and crushing poverty. If you were poor and white, there was a place for you; the Empire always welcomed new footsoldiers. If you were desperate and Asian – for whatever value of Asian Lung held, no-one could ever quite pin it down – there was a place for you in the ABB. If you were black or hispanic or Jewish or any other ethnicity, or if you didn't like the idea of killing people for their skin colour?

Well, the Merchants existed. But they were no-one's first choice.

Now, Noblesse Oblige had come onto the scene with a bang, openly broadcasting their intentions and opening their arms to _anyone_ , so long as you didn't have certain crimes in your rap sheet. And people who wouldn't normally consider it were being swayed; the promise of money and power and a 'moral' code of conduct? It was seductive.

So there was now a small area controlled by the out-of-town group, patrolled by clusters of men and women in new gang colours. New gang tags were going up, the knife-and-crown of Noblesse Oblige, and the old skull of the Marque.

She was pulled from her thoughts by her phone vibrating, and she snagged it from her pocket and answered it, tucking it under her flag and against her ear.

“Hey, Militia. Got some info for you.”

“Moriarty. What did you find?”

“Meet me at O'Donnell's and I'll tell you.”

It took Hannah half an hour to get there. The old Irish pub was on the very edge of the Docks, and it was full to the brim with serious-looking dockworkers, doing serious drinking. It was loud and crowded and Moriarty loved the place. She was sat in her usual seat, a booth towards the back of the pub, with a large glass of whiskey in front of her and a laptop.

Hannah slid into the seat across from her, looking expectantly at the other woman.

“So, tell me. What did you find?”

There was an exasperated huff before Moriarty responded, in Kurdish. “A lot of red tape and a lot of lies. What I _know_ : New Wave, at the time the Brockton Bay Brigade, attacked Marquis in his home while he was unmasked. They defeated and captured him, and the house burned down due to their fight. He was incarcerated pending trial, and New Wave decided to go on holiday to Europe. They paid for this with the bounty they got from his capture.”

Miss Militia frowned. “That's very odd. They've never really left Brockton, to my knowledge. Something about loving the city too much.”

“We agree. Even stranger is that they came _back_ from Europe a few months later, with a new addition.”

“Amy Dallon. Panacea. You don't think she's?”

“I wish I could say for sure. She _could_ be. She's got the looks and the powers to be Marquis' biological daughter. But the documentation checks out; she was born in France, and lived in an orphanage there for six years.”

“I could get that faked up in under an hour, Moriarty, and you know it.”

“Yeah.” She sighed again. “I hate this. I hate that I'm having to accuse our local hero team like this. But it all comes together too neatly. They didn't even change her name very much. Amelia Lavere to Amy Dallon.”

Miss Militia's teeth ground together. “So they kidnapped his daughter.”

“There's no evidence.” Moriarty was speaking softly now. “Amelia Lavere is officially dead. As is Andrew Lavere, her father, and Carena Dubois, her mother. As is her aunt, Annette Lavere-Hebert.” She took a deep breath. “But there is surviving family. Her cousin, Taylor Hebert, and her uncle, Daniel Hebert. She should have gone to them.”

Hanna swore loudly. “Taylor Hebert. She's the- Fuck. Fuck!” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “She was hospitalised a couple of weeks ago.” _She's Juke._

“Yes. That's what prompted our friends to come and visit. I know what their civilian identities are now, and they came down from Chicago when they heard she was injured.”

Hannah paused for a moment. “Don't tell me, yet. I don't need to know unless it gets worse. The last thing I want is to corner them and make them desperate.”

“And then Danny Hebert was shot in his home the day after they released Taylor from hospital.”

“You know why he survived.” It wasn't a question, but a statement.

“Only one way, considering the medical reports. She's a parahuman too. Panacea treated her, but there was no recognition from either party, as far as I can tell.” Moriarty took a drink, ice clinking against glass. “That's a strike against her being the daughter. The two families were very close. The Heberts were at the house just hours before New Wave attacked, in fact.”

Hannah shook her head. “It's not definitive. White Lie was active back then. Memory erasure for hire.”

“Yeah, I know, I know.” Moriarty sighed and drank again. “It's just... New Wave are all so straight-laced. Other than the odd incident with Victoria Dallon, or the single thing with Marquis. And they contribute so much to this city. I don't want to think poorly of them.”

“But you still think it was them.”

“Yes. It's all too neat. It all fits together too well. But it's circumstantial. Hearsay and rumour and educated guesses. We can't tell anyone.” She shook her head. “New Wave went up against the Marque time and again back in the day. And they lost, time and again. Without Marquis? It would make a difference, sure. But they've lost people too; Fleur died, Lightstar left, Flashbang's half the man he used to be...”

“And the new generation are still green. Glory Girl has a lot of potential, but she's too emotional to fight them. Bluebeard would have a field day. God, this could get very ugly very fast.”

“We can't let this get out, Miss Militia.” Moriarty looked down at her drink. “You make any progress on your end?”

“They've carved out some turf. They took advantage of the Empire's weakened state to steal a good dozen blocks out from under them, and they're steam-rolling the Merchants. They've been a team for more than ten years, and active all that time, while Skidmark and Squealer haven't been _powered_ that long. Not to mention that we still have Mush in captivity.”

“Like you said. It's going to get ugly, fast.”

Hannah nodded wearily, slumping back in her seat. “Lung's going to make a move any day now. He's got that new Tinker, and we've not seen hide nor hair of her yet. He's up to something. Coil's taking advantage of the chaos and hitting the Empire from the other side. The Undersiders have even started to hold turf. The Merchants won't last much longer with the way things are going, and that manpower is going to go to the new gangs.”

“Plus Faultline's crew and the Travellers. Mercenaries like that can tip the balance, and Kaiser's the most likely one to start it. He's got the money, and he desperately needs to shore up his defences.”

“Juke isn't helping, either. She's weakened all three major gangs in less than a week, and it doesn't make _sense_. Someone's playing her, and she isn't eager to come into the Wards.”

Moriarty nodded her agreement. “Powerful, but so new it hurts. It's just like when Purity triggered.”

Hannah shook her head slowly. “No. No, not quite. Not that it'll matter if any of the big players get their hands on her.”

“It sounds like one of them already does.”

“I don't think so. Kaiser's the only one who'd bother to pull a false-flag operation and take down some of his own for a cover, but he'd never risk Othala to it. My moneys on Coil or one of the Undersiders.”

“Well, we'll prepare to dig a hole and pull it in after us. We're no use in a fight.” Moriarty sighed, then raised her glass. “ _Anosh_. May your enemies be stupid and your friends loyal.”

Hannah raised her own imaginary glass, and Moriarty finished her drink. “To you as well. Stay safe, Moriarty. I'll be in touch.”

“Oui.” Moriarty's accent was slipping a little, thickening into French Canadian. “I'll see you about, Militia.”

Hannah left the pub with her head abuzz, worry and concern warring for her attention.

They'd have a war, soon. She could feel it.

She just hoped the city could survive it.

**End Interlude 2.b**

**XxXxX**


End file.
